


True Blue

by disgracepeddler



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Betrayal, Catholicism, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, Government Conspiracy, Homophobia, Hot Topic Teen Drama, Incestuous Undertones, M/M, Medical Horror, Non-AU Boarding School AU, Racism, Religion, Rimming, Sexism, Slurs, Sports, Teen Pregnancy, The illuminati - Freeform, child grooming, one hundred percent the wildest shit you ever read, part YA sports anime romance origfic, part pure kojimacore nation-spanning cyborg RPF illuminati plot, part serious dissertation on power imbalances, tpp spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 34
Words: 168,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgracepeddler/pseuds/disgracepeddler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They took his freedom and his purpose, but nothing could take Eli's hatred. It would burn in his veins like poison until the day that the world wrenched his life from the unyielding grip of his cold and bloodied fingers — even if that meant he had to survive <i>boarding school.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jimmy Jimmy

**Author's Note:**

> My brief attempt at writing porn for a very bad pairing swiftly morphed into a slow burn, onerous sprawling mess of a tome that now, forgive my hubris, may possibly constitute just about as close as anyone can get to concocting a full _Kojima Production_. This may well become the most absurd thing anyone has ever posted to this website — I am breaking every single fanfiction rule that has ever been written, and many more that probably should have been. 
> 
> You are in for a _wild fucking ride_ , replete with shitty OCs, a love quadrangle (pentangle?? sexangle, if you squint???), intense volumes of psychosexual derangement, sports drama, a literal Illuminati conspiracy, teen feelings, The Villain, Margaret Thatcher, and a plot conceit that may cause you to contemplate, " _does that mean someone had to forcibly jack off the Pope?_ "
> 
> The answer is yes. Yes, someone had to forcibly jack off the Pope.
> 
> Now, take my hand. If you can place a little faith in me, I'll lead us both into the fucking garbage.
> 
> I had to watch Crocodile Dundee II for this.

**15 May, 1987. Quatro de Fevereiro International Airport.**

It took all of the strength Eli had not to let the knife of the blade slide right through the boy's sliver of exposed flesh.

It would have been effortless. The skin of the boy's neck was pale, soft and thin, and strained perilously even under the faintest pressure behind the blade's hilt. All Eli had to do was twitch and the sharp edge would've sliced through to the vein like butter.

He wanted to. There was little that was more satisfying than those few moments after a clean cut, when time seemed to slow to a crawl, and he waited to see whether the man's blood would flow before the fear of death reached his eyes. Eli's body surged with adrenaline and temptation — he wanted to feel the boy's life wash over his hands and face and relish the burn of the retch when the blood runs into his mouth in the struggle.

But Eli stayed his hand, and he waited. He'd put his knife to the boy's throat in search of an answer, and he'd take nothing more without reason. He was not a slave to his genes.

"Scared," the boy whispered. The sound was barely audible through the hiss of his mask.

Eli allowed his lip to curl in disgust. The boy didn't speak much; at first Eli had thought it was because he couldn't, or didn't want to, but his recent meager attempts made clear that he simply hadn't been able to speak any English. Apparently, sharing minds did little good for his own independent linguistic performance when they were apart.

Even now, after so long together, his vocabulary was pitifully limited — he'd managed to learn simple words, emotions, yes and no — and what he was _willing_ to say was an even smaller subset of that.

Eli wasn't sure if he was angry that the boy spoke too little, or too much. He was _certainly_ angry at this newfound _willfulness_.

When Eli didn't deign to withdraw his blade, the boy repeated, louder, as if Eli hadn't heard, " _Scared._ "

"You think I care if you're _scared?_ " Eli spat, pressing on the blade just hard enough to nick the skin. The boy didn't even flinch, despite his claims to fear.

There were times when Eli and the boy seemed to think and act as one, but those moments of unity were growing increasingly scarce. Eli didn't know if it was because the boy was growing more independent, or if his own will and thirst for vengeance were growing weaker; the latter seemed frankly unthinkable.

Whatever the case was, Eli didn't have the time or patience for ingrates who couldn't do what they were told. He'd kill the boy without hesitation if he were no longer any use to him.

Even this tiny airport was bustling with activity this time of day, but no one seemed to notice the boy if he didn't want to be seen. Eli had no fear of reprisal, even crowded into a corner with his knife against a child's throat.

"No bird," the boy said.

"Bird?" Eli echoed, incredulous.

The boy slowly turned his head to look out the window. He wasn't concerned with the knife digging into his flesh; Eli reflexively relaxed before it'd cut, and followed his gaze to the line of planes on the tarmac. "Surely you've heard _aeroplane_ before," Eli snorted.

"No bird," the boy repeated.

"Don't fool yourself for a _second_ that I need you," Eli growled. The boy should have known Eli didn't make empty threats. "Come with me, and do as I say, or I'll leave you behind."

For a time, the boy was silent but for the quiet sound of his slow breath through his mask. Eli waited, tense and aggravated by the boy's unaffected demeanor. After what felt like an eternity, the boy answered, with uncharacteristic force, " _No._ "

Eli sneered disdainfully. If that was the way he was going to be, the boy was better off dead. Killing him would be a mercy. Eli held no reluctance from the moment he decided to drive the blade home.

But just as soon as he put his anger behind the knife, the boy was gone. Eli wheeled around, and found that the boy had reappeared behind him in the blink of an eye; he swung wildly, but the boy evaded the second strike as easily as the first. 

Eli knew well enough to not mark himself a fool. He straightened his back and hardened his eyes. "Fine! Go! I don't care. I'll do it without you. I've plenty of other tools," Eli declared, brandishing his knife as the boy slowly backed away like a fading memory. "You're a coward, and you'll die as one. Get out of here! Don't show your _hideous face_ ever —"

And then the nameless child disappeared into the crowd, and was gone.

Eli was left alone. Without the boy to shield him, he began to catch a few wary glances from passersby; a little white boy waving around a knife in an airport was surely a spectacle. Flustered, Eli hastily shoved the blade into his belt.

" _Ínki?_ " he barked at a man whose gaze lingered too long. " _Nge ké bela?_ "

The man immediately averted his eyes and hurried along to his destination. Eli, simmering with undirected fury, spat on the ground. His head was swimming; his chest was burning; his fists itched to strike out aimlessly. He settled for gritting his teeth and shouldering his own way into the crowd.

The flight would be leaving in an hour and a half, so he had to make it through security soon enough. He felt slightly apprehensive, now; two years of scrounging only got him a South African passport he couldn't be entirely sure didn't have flaws. He hadn't worried too much, with the boy on his side to misdirect attention — but on his own, he'd have to hope luck would be in his favor.

Eli ducked into a bathroom to assess his security risk. All he planned to bring was his knife, but he'd have to find some means to hide it; he doubted the small airport had metal detectors, or that he couldn't weasel his way into having a pat-down instead. No one would suspect a child.

He settled for wrapping the blade in paper towels and wedging it into his boot. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it got the job done well enough. With any luck, he wouldn't cut himself. 

Eli hobbled out of the bathroom, steeled his nerves, and headed directly for the departure gates. He impatiently waited as the queue slowly inched forward.

By the time Eli made it up to the front, he was itching for a fight again. He did his best to not let his restlessness show, lest it be taken as cause for alarm. He presented his boarding pass and fake passport with as much confidence as he could muster.

The security agent took one look at him and went for broken English. "You are going to Johannesburg? Where is your parents, boy?"

"Bó kufuaka," Eli answered. "Mpangi na mono ya yakala ké vandaka kuna."

Whether it was because he was shocked at what Eli said or the fact he could speak Kikongo at all, the agent froze. "Lolula móno," he said. "Yandi ké vandaka wapi? Johannesburg na?" 

Eli rattled off an address he came up with off the top of his head, and the agent returned Eli's passport without a second look. 

Another agent patted him down, but didn't think to dig into his footwear before he allowed Eli through the gate. He passed off his awkward gait as an ostentatious swagger. It had been as easy as he'd hoped. Careless, honestly.

Eli fished the knife out of his boot when he was clear and replaced it on his belt, hidden by his coat. All that was left for him to do was wait. 

His flight to South Africa arrived just in time and he boarded when his zone was called. The airliner was pitifully small, and while he knew an economy seating cabin would be cramped, he hadn't anticipated just how _claustrophobic_ it would be. Thankfully, he at least brought no baggage.

Eli slowly made his way down the narrow aisle until he reached the row specified on his boarding pass. He looked up at the markings above the seats, and then double checked his ticket — there was definitely someone in his spot.

"You're in my seat," Eli announced, gazing loftily down at the woman so brazenly occupying his rightful place. He was surprised to see that she was as white as he was — pale skinned and pale eyed, with long blonde hair that framed her face in a carefully disarrayed tousle. Despite her age, she was still clearly very pretty. 

The woman's eyes snapped up at his voice. "Oh, if you wouldn't mind — I get awfully sick when I'm stuck on a window seat," she said, her bright smile unaffected by Eli's attempts at disrespect. From her accent, she sounded American. "I know it says this is your seat on the tickets, but if we could switch…"

Eli had half a mind to tell her to fuck off, but when his gaze drifted down to the cleavage displayed prominently by her low-cut blouse, nothing came out but an unintelligible mumble.

"Great!" she exclaimed, standing up to let Eli squeeze through to the window seat. She was surprisingly tall, which did _not_ help the breast situation. They were _right in his face!_ "Thank you so much, sweetheart. It means the world to me."

Eli had no idea why he was going along with this; he didn't even think to argue before he slid into the seat by the window. He wanted the aisle seat so he could just get up undeterred when it was time to make his move, but now he was _trapped_ — he began mentally kicking himself the moment he sat down.

Nevertheless, he couldn't bring himself to _say_ anything. He stared ahead at the seat in front of him, nervous to even look back in her direction. He glimpsed her leafing through the flight's informational packets out of the corner of his eye.

"Hmmm, the food service doesn't look too great," she remarked. "Have you flown _South African_ before?" 

It took a moment for Eli to realize she was speaking to him. He looked over to her with an expression that he was sure resembled embarrassingly bewildered shock. "What? Uh, no."

"Oh, well… it's a short flight, anyway. I'm sure I'll survive."

Eli could tell the woman was older than she looked, which was already _far_ too old to be showing as much tit as she was. He forced himself to stare out the window to keep himself from looking. 

The pilot came on with the safety instructions, and the plane began taxiing to takeoff. Eli was thankful for barrage of distractions from the overhead, but the moment there was a lull in the announcements, the woman next to him seized the opportunity to bother him _again._

"Make sure you buckle your seatbelt before lift-off, honey. Do you need me to show you how to do it?"

Eli scowled irritably. Did she think he was _stupid?_ "I _know_ how to buckle a seatbelt," he spat, and his hands immediately shot to fumble with the straps.

That horrible succubus watched Eli with intent interest as he attempted to demonstrate his proficiency with buckling plane seatbelts. The only problem was that he evidently had none. It wasn't like he'd never been on a _plane_ before, but this was his first time flying coach, and it was _different_ and it's not like he _listened_ when they told him to use —

"You have to put the tab into the small end of the buckle, baby."

Eli's face turned scarlet. "I _know_ that!" he protested, trying to make it look like he was just about to do that anyway. "I was just — I —"

"Now pull on the strap so it —"

"I don't need your help!" He pulled the strap so tight it was painful. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Of course you do, munchkin. I never doubted you."

Eli seethed silently in his seat as the plane finally began to lift into the air.

The flight from Luanda to Johannesburg was only about three hours long, but he would have to choose the perfect time to act. Too soon, and he might risk a vigilante retaliation from the passengers before he could reach his destination. 

"So," the woman said, startling Eli out of his thoughts. "What are you going to South Africa for?"

Eli allowed himself a moment of dark contemplation. "I'm going to see my father," he finally said.

"Hmm," she replied. Eli looked to her with curiosity. "I can't believe I didn't think to ask. What's your name, honey?"

"It's Eli," he immediately answered, without hesitation or thought of lying. What the fuck?

Eli didn't understand what was happening to him, but he knew women were not to be trusted. All of them were snakes, to the last. He'd kill this siren the moment he wrenched free of her horrible spell.

"That's a wonderful name," she said, smiling with a genuine fondness that made Eli's stomach flip. "How old are you?"

Eli started _stammering._ "F-fourteen. But — but I'll be _fifteen_ next month."

"Wow, so young! And you're flying all by yourself? Your parents must be so proud of you, sweetie."

It was good to see that at least blind rage seemed to be more powerful than this broad's tits. "Not bloody likely," Eli snorted.

She tilted her head, and smiled in a way that seemed almost _sad._ Another incomprehensible feminine caprice. "I believe all parents love their children, Eli. Even when they can't always be there, or don't know how to show it."

"You don't _know_ me, woman," Eli shot back. "You don't know my _life._ "

"Maybe I don't. But I'm quite a bit older than you, Eli, and I've seen a lot of things — and I can tell you that in all my time, I've never doubted that love is the most powerful thing in this world."

Eli sneered. He was old enough to know that love was a _lie._

"The world decided to hate me before I was even _born,_ " he said, gazing pensively out of the window. 

"Oh, Eli…" she said, holding back a soft laugh. "That isn't true."

Eli turned his head back to look at her, with all the conviction he could muster. "It is," he insisted. "The world _does_ hate me. And I'll fight it, _and_ my fate, until the very last breath I take."

"Eli…" 

What did this broad even know? She didn't have to rue the very fact of her birth. She'd probably never had to suffer a day of hardship in her _life._ She'd climb off this plane and return to her normal routine, with her normal family and her normal job, and never have to worry about _any_ of the things Eli had to face _every day._

Eli had grown so used to her constant questioning that it was strange to fall back into silence. After spending all while she spoke hoping that she'd stop, he found himself wishing she'd ask him something again despite himself. 

She didn't, though. She sighed, and shook her head, and looked back down to the informational pamphlet in her lap. 

Eli stared out the window. He wondered how far they'd flown. Maybe he'd be better off if he just went to take the plane right then. It certainly beat thinking about this lady any longer. 

"Um, would you let me get up so I can go to the toilet," Eli muttered.

The woman suddenly looked up. "Oh? I'm sorry, honey, I didn't hear what you said."

"I need to go to the toilet," he repeated, louder this time.

"Oh! Of course."

The woman quickly got up to let Eli through, and he awkwardly squeezed past her into the aisle — but as he turned to walk towards the cockpit, he felt a hand around his wrist.

"Eli, wait," she said, sat back in her seat. "That man isn't your father."

"Wh— what?" Eli stuttered. "What're you talking about?"

"He's not your father," she repeated. "The man in Outer Heaven is nothing but a phantom."

"I — wh —"

"If you go, you won't find what you're looking for."

Eli's eyes widened in shock. "I don't… I don't understand," he said.

"You aren't meant to, Eli." She wore a smile on her face that Eli couldn't hope to parse. "Neither is the world."

She tenderly squeezed his hand, and then let him go free. Eli's mouth hung open. 

He stumbled down the aisle towards the small washroom compartment, and shut himself in. He didn't actually have to pee; instead, he stared at his own face in the mirror. He looked as white as a ghost.

_Nothing but a phantom?_ Who _was_ that woman? She knew about Outer Heaven — she knew who _he_ was — did his father send her? If Outer Heaven wasn't being run by Big Boss, who _could_ be masterminding it? Where was his father?

Eli banged his fist on the tiny sink counter. _Why did he run away to the damn toilet?_

Eli flushed, wrenched open the door to the compartment and hurried back down the central aisle. He came to a stop back at his row, and looked down, prepared to fire off a rapid string of countless questions — but the woman was _gone._

He looked wildly around the cabin, and when he didn't find her, he rushed down to the other end of the plane. Her blonde hair would've stood out no matter where she'd moved to sit, but he caught no sight of her. Where could she have even gone _to?_

When the stewardesses began to give him funny looks, Eli returned to his window seat. He anxiously watched and waited, but no one came.

" _Fuck,_ " Eli cursed, but no one heard him. Had he _imagined_ this woman? He worried that he was going insane, just like his father was. 

All he wanted was to see her again. He wanted to understand the things she said. Where did she go?

Eli never tried to hijack the plane.

 

***

 

The plane touched down in Johannesburg right on time. Eli filtered out into the terminal in an orderly procession with the other passengers.

He felt like he was moving forward in a stupor. For the first time, he had no direction and no purpose. His longing for revenge surely hadn't left him, but for now, it seemed it'd gone to rest — and Eli could feel a gaping emptiness where it had once been. Each breath he took seemed to escape through a hole in his chest.

The boy wandered the airport aimlessly for a time. He passed hundreds of people of every color and shape, and he tried to wonder about their lives. He found he couldn't, not really. He couldn't imagine a life without fighting and pain and death and the warmth of blood on his fingers; a different path was something he could only envision as words told to him by another. The thought of living as a normal person did was so strange as to be unthinkable.

Eli tried to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat, but was startled to discover there was something in them that he almost certainly didn't _put_ there. A roll of bills and a booklet tumbled out in his surprise, and he scrambled to snatch them up off the ground.

In his hands were a substantial wad of rand, and a… British passport?

Eli let himself sit on his knees and shakily count out the bills. There was at least 600 rand — more than enough to buy himself a ticket to just about anywhere he wanted to go. 

The passport was nearly impeccable. He couldn't see any obvious manufacturing flaws, and even the information was about as accurate as it could get — the photo was a bit old, but it was clearly an actual picture of him; even the birth date was correct. His name was, apparently, _Eli Doe._

And he could tell from the age of the photograph where all this information was _from._ That woman — whoever she was — was working with _Diamond Dogs._

Eli crumpled the money in his hand. Had he just been _played?_ What was he supposed to do? What did she mean, that the man he met was _nothing but a phantom?_ If that wasn't Big Boss — wasn't his father — what meaning did he have? Where did he go from here?

He looked up, and the infinite impossibility of choice stretched out before him.


	2. Think of Me

**13 August, 1987. London.**

The morning air was foggy, damp and smelled of garbage.

There were few people out in the thickness of the haze. It was early and dim still, so the street lights were on, but the fog choked the light to little warm pinpricks floating adrift in the grey. Eli couldn't see much further than the step ahead of him, but that was fine; he was there to see a rat in his hole, and smell would more than do.

Eli could've found his way to that little basement hovel blind, if he'd needed to. It was rank enough passing through the twisting alleyways lined with dumpsters, but the closer he drew near, the fouler it smelled. It was a sickly sweet scent that Eli would have recognized anywhere.

The entrance to the building was unassuming, and Eli might have missed it if he'd not known to look. It was an unusually thin door, hidden beneath the shadow of a fire escape at the back of a tall brick building. From the looks of it, filthy and run over by moss, the entire building was likely abandoned. The worst of the stench was coming from inside.

He came to the rusted door and and gingerly knocked to announce himself. He'd come alone, but he wasn't afraid; he was ready for whatever might lay on the other side.

It felt like an eternity before Eli finally heard the sound of someone approaching from the other side of the door. It opened just a crack, and Eli held his breath as he waited. Instead of opening the rest of the way, though, it shut again, and the alley fell back into silence.

Eli hesitated. What was he supposed to do? Lacking any other hint, he tried to pull open the door himself. It opened, but he found nothing but blackness on the other side; when he peeked his head through and allowed himself a moment to adjust to the dark, he could see that the cramped entryway lead down to a flight of stairs into the basement.

With a deep breath, he stepped inside. The smell of death was almost overwhelming now, even to him. He held his nose and breathed through his mouth as he slowly and carefully began to descend the staircase, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. He tried not to think about whatever wet sticky substance was rubbing off onto his fingers.

Eli reached the bottom of the stairs and was left completely blind. He waited, and listened closely; all he could hear was his quiet draw of breath and the blood pulsing in his own ears. Eli nearly jumped out of his skin when the rat in the hovel suddenly struck a match.

The only source of light in the complete dark, the match seemed as if it had an unnatural reach — Eli could make out indistinct shapes now, including the side of the rat's face and the twisted fingers gripping it gingerly by the stick. Eli said nothing, stood rod stiff, as the rat shifted and moved about; he soon realized that the rat was lighting candles, one by one, until the basement was just lit enough for Eli to see.

Eli got his first look at the rat then. He was a man small enough in stature without his conspicuous hunch, and his knees bowed together like they'd been broken. Despite his frailty and skeletal figure, the rat far from lacked in fat; it sagged off his bones just as his leathery skin did, in sickly dangling deposits and unsightly lumps. His skull was crowded by a jumble of disfigured features that all seemed far too large for his face, which distinctly drooped on the right side. His body was covered in tattered rags so thickly stained in blood and dirt and feces that Eli had no guess as to what color they may have originally been.

The room itself was a disaster. It was furnished, but looked as if a tornado had been through it; broken wood and twisted metal were strewn all about, and garbage covered every surface. He spotted the dessicated corpse of a small rodent, and knew he'd find more if he cared to look.

Eli shivered. It was far too cold for a summer morning.

"Come closer, boy. Let me get a good look at you," the rat spoke. His voice was perhaps the most shocking thing about him — it came from his mouth in a rich timber, each syllable enunciated and clear. If Eli closed his eyes and held his breath, he might have imagined he was standing in the Palace of Westminster.

It would've been a lie to say that Eli didn't feel the least bit of trepidation as he stared down at the gnarled man with his curling beckoning hands, but he wasn't _afraid._ Eli was never _afraid._ He took a step forward with all the confidence he could muster, and the second came a bit easier. 

The rat's thin lips stretched over his crooked dentition in a closed grin as he inspected Eli's face in the light. "Ah, if it isn't the little boy robber I've heard so much about," the rat tittered, exposing a mouth full of teeth as rotted as the rest of him. "You're without your _entourage,_ I see. Have you come to divest me of my livelihood too, boy?"

Eli cast a glance around. Little about the rat suggested he was alive at all. "You've not got much to steal," he mildly remarked.

"So it is," the rat agreed, laughing for a bit too long. "Come, come. Sit. Make yourself at home."

Eli did not sit, and did not make himself at home. "I heard… someone said that if I needed to know something, I should come to you."

"I know a few things, it's true."

"I want to ask about a man —"

"Oh, a man?" the rat said, a gruesome grin stretching the corners of his lips. "I can tell you plenty of things about men, boy. Vile creatures, to the last — selfish, petty liars, and more bloodthirsty than any bat. Better to be a monster like me."

The hairs on the back of Eli's neck stood on end as the rat seemed to peer right through him. The twisted man made unwavering eye contact, and Eli didn't dare look away lest it be taken for weakness. "A man in particular, I mean," Eli said.

"Ah, that's more difficult," the rat said, as if he were speaking to himself. He nodded, licked his lips, and wandered over to a tattered wardrobe by the side of the room. "Have you something to barter for such a request?"

Eli watched uncomfortably as the rat wrenched the doors to the wardrobe open. It was empty inside, but for a line of dusty hangers that had clearly not seen use in years. The rat used the mirror on the inside of the door to stare into his own face, poking and picking at whatever blemishes and scabs caught his interest. He dug deep into old scars, opening them anew, and licked the blood from his grimy nails.

Eli could see himself in the reflection, too; he looked terribly amiss among the wreckage, young and scuffed but not broken. "I've got money," he offered, watching himself in the mirror as he reached for his pocket.

The rat immediately held up a hand to the mirror; it was red and white and flakey and scabby, as if mottled by disease. "No, no, no. What use have I for money, boy?"

Eli looked around. "Could get you a better place to live."

"No, no, no," the rat repeated, brandishing his gnarled hand not at Eli but his reflection. At once he spun around and advanced, spitting a maddened jumble of words, "Money is blood, boy, and it's like as not to become _my_ blood when it's stricken from my hands. I live as I do because it keeps me safe, boy, it keeps me out the line of bullets shot by hungry mouths and empty coffers and young boys with so much to prove. I _must_ live with nothing, boy, or I will _become_ nothing, do you understand? Do not bring your poison into this place."

Eli could smell the rat's breath; he hadn't approached that closely in his tirade, but the reek was fierce enough to cut through even the ambient stench. He struggled not to retch before he spoke. "Money's all I have to offer."

"Oh, no, boy. You have so very much more to give," the rat laughed. "Your body, perhaps?"

Eli went stiff, and struggled to conceal his immediate surprise and disgust.

He must not have done such a good job, because the rat soon laughed again. "No, I joke, I joke. I've no interest in boys, pretty though you are. And I've not got much of a cock left, besides."

In relief, Eli released his held breath. "Then what —"

"A word for a word," the rat said. "Tell me something I don't know, and I'll tell you what you want to hear."

Eli's eyes narrowed. "Something you don't know," he repeated.

"Yes. That's all I wish, boy. Money and sex and power mean little in the face of a secret, whispered at the right moment."

_Something he doesn't know…_ Eli wasn't sure what the criteria for the request was. Surely what he had for breakfast wouldn't pass muster, but truth be told, Eli had very few secrets — and those he had were so significant he hesitated to divulge.

Eli found one he could bear to part with and tried his luck. "I… I'm the son of Big Boss," Eli offered.

The rat shook his head. "I said something I didn't _know,_ boy."

Eli screwed up his face. If the rat already knew all his secrets, then what was he supposed to say? "The man I'm looking for goes by _Zero._ He's… my grandfather."

"Trying a lie, hmm?" the rat trilled. "Ahh, not a lie, but a simplification sold to one who knows nothing. Boy, one would hope I'd at least know as much as you about the man whom you seek, lest I look a fool plying my trade."

"That wasn't my secret," Eli said.

"Then what is?"

"I don't know what to tell you, if you already know everything I know."

"Boy, there's not a one among us who doesn't keep something close to his chest. Even if it's just one thing, there's some part in you that you hide from this world. I know you can teach me something that will make my little black heart sing," the rat said. "Come, come. I've errands to run. You can think while we walk, yes?"

The rat didn't wait for a response. He simply hurried past to the door, and Eli had no choice but to follow after. He couldn't help but notice that the candles seemed to blow out by themselves as they climbed the staircase.

Eli couldn't tell if the creaking was the stairs or the rat's bones, but it was a perilous sound all the same. The dim light nearly blinded him when the rat pushed open the door to the outside.

"I don't often go out, you see," the rat explained as Eli trailed behind him. Eli could see even more clearly how disfigured he was in the light; he walked with a hobbled limp that badly wanted for a cane. "I'm a bit of an eyesore, I understand. Children scream and women faint at the sight of me. But that's all right. The world is more than content to come to me."

They didn't travel far. "Errands", it seemed, was a bit of joke; Eli watched in mesmerized disgust as the little man climbed up the side of a dumpster and into the stinking bin — it was all the more enthralling for how poorly his disfigured body was suited for any such task. Eli had absolutely no intention to help.

He stayed silent as the rat rooted around through plastic bags full to burst with garbage. It was a nauseating sight. After a long while of digging, the rat seemed to finally find a bag that satisfied him, and hauled it out along with him. It was nearly as big as he was, and his body sagged visibly beneath its weight. It swarmed with flies, which seemed to make no distinction between the bag and the rat beneath it.

"Good, good. This will do. Now, let's return to the safety of the dark," the rat said, and trundled off.

As Eli followed along at a safe distance, it suddenly came to him. He blurted out without thinking or understanding, "The man in Outer Heaven is nothing but a phantom."

The rat stopped in his tracks, his hand on the door. Slowly, he turned his head and smiled like a wild animal, exposing his teeth to the gums. "That's a very interesting secret, boy."

"Good," Eli said, concealing his reflexive response to the rat's ghoulish rictus. "Then you can tell me about Zero?"

The rat didn't immediately answer. He opened the door back to his hovel and went down the stairs, and Eli hurried to follow after him. 

As soon as they made it back down to the floor, the rat dumped his bag by a wall, and struck another match.

"How is it that you know so much, if you never leave?" Eli asked, as the rat set about lighting the candles anew.

The rat extinguished the match with his fingers when he was done. "How is it that you know so little, with all the world to see?"

Eli realized then just how little of the room he could actually see in the light. The candles illuminated two walls, but the darkness could extend into infinity, for all he knew. He couldn't help but stare into the black. Eli swallowed the last of his spit down his dry throat and asked, "Is there someone else down here with us?"

The rat smiled. "Take care not to waste your secret, boy," he answered.

Eli moved closer to the light. It was a ridiculous motion, certainly not likely to spare him from any assault, but he couldn't suppress the reflex. The rat observed his actions with dry amusement, but Eli was past the point of caring for this man's opinion of his bravery.

The rat drew closer, his voice dropped to a whisper. "As for your question —" Eli waited with bated breath. "— there's nothing I can tell you about that man."

Eli whispered back. He worried what might happen if he didn't. "But you said —"

"I said a lot of things, boy. But I'll say nothing of _that man,_ " the rat said. "I _can_ tell you about a _woman._ Perhaps that will be of interest to you."

Eli drew back. "A woman?"

"Yes, a woman. I've met one or two, in my day. But this one I believe is special to you," the rat said, nodding. "Your mother, in fact."

"My _mother?_ " Eli repeated. "I don't _have_ a mother."

"Oh, but you do! More mothers than most, I'd say. It took three — an egg, a womb, and a vision."

"And which is she?"

"The one who matters," the rat said. "Not blood, but the water of the womb will do, wouldn't you say?"

Eli furrowed his brow. "Who is she?"

"I'm not sure that's a question even she could answer," the rat said. "And one could say that I've paid more than my debt, with what I've just told you now. But I will tell you one thing more, and then you must go."

"What?" Eli demanded, growing impatient.

"Come closer, boy, come closer."

The rat beckoned with finger, urging Eli nearer. Eli reluctantly complied, allowing the rat to move in closer and closer until the boy could see every snaking branch of burst blood vessel in his rheumy eyes. Though the rest of him may well have been dead, there was a burning clarity in those eyes, bluer and brighter than any Eli had ever seen. The flickering lights of the candles danced in their watery reflections, seemingly multiplied a dozenfold.

Eli froze as the rat braced both disgusting hands against his shoulders, leaned in and whispered, his lips right at the cup of Eli's ear, "She's _here._ "

Eli jolted, his heart caught in his throat, and he looked wildly around the room for any sign of a _presence._ But there was no one there, and the realization quickly dawned that he'd been had.

The rat laughed, loudly now, and took a step back. "In _London,_ boy. She's here — and looking for you, I'd expect. Perhaps you ought not make yourself so scarce?"

Eli stumbled backwards, his fists clenched, and willed himself not to do something he'd regret. "Where is she? Where do I find her?"

"You've not earned so many secrets, boy, and you have nothing more I want to hear," the rat said. Suddenly, his face twisted into a horrific visage, and he lunged forward, baying, "So go! Get out of here!"

Eli bolted by reflex. The rat chased after him, snapping and clawing and baring his teeth, and Eli ran up the blind staircase faster than he'd ever run. He didn't stop to check if he was being followed when he reached the top — he bowled through the door and kept running, as fast as his lungs would let him, as far as his legs would carry him, until he burst onto the sidewalk of the thoroughfare and was swallowed by the morning rush.


	3. White Heat

**28 August, 1987. Barclays.**

White boys were weak and utterly useless, Eli concluded. 

Eli took his soldiers in Africa for granted, but he hadn't realized how much worse it could have been until he was faced with the unfathomable cowardice of English children. The boys from Angola were weak, to be sure, but they became as hard as they were brittle, with time.

Where Eli and his soldiers in Africa had lived and breathed war, these children saw battle as a reprieve from a pedestrian reality to which they were nevertheless anchored. They'd never killed, and couldn't imagine a world in which they'd need to. At the end of the day, they'd put this life of delinquency aside and return to a safety that they took entirely for granted.

Eli knew that true soldiers were born, but necessity could shape a man into a fighter. These children were neither.

Disgusted with them though he was, Eli needed to surround himself with tools — and oddly enough, he found the color of his skin more a liability in England than it ever had been in Africa. The caliber of coward and imbecile with which he was now stuck had done so much to discredit his race that there simply was no way for him to reach and command the respect of those who comprised truly the lowest rungs of society, where he knew he would find a true force of will. And given the state of his rabble now, it was little wonder. 

But there was nothing to be done. Eli simply had to make do with what he could get — and although they lacked in skill and determination and loyalty, their bodies would soak up bullets the same as any other. He would use them and force them to play their role, until either fear or death took them.

And yet children were not an inexhaustible resource, so he still found himself absorbed with the onerous task of keeping these useless pawns in _line._ They were flighty, and scared easily, especially when they happened to catch a glimpse of what the world was really like — and Eli had to move quickly to quash their fanciful notions of retreat. 

It was fifteen minutes to the bank's close, and Clayton was getting cold feet. Eli could read his hesitation from every one of his movements. He was fidgeting, sweating, constantly palming his gun — Eli had to deal with the problem before he welched.

"What's with you?" Eli snapped, rounding on the boy in front of the others as they milled around on the corner. "Need your nappy changed, Clayton? There's a phone box just down the way. Why don't you dial your mummy to come get you?"

Clayton, a 17 year old with a ginger mop and a visage that closer resembled a pizza than a face, was easily mollified by challenges to his bravery or masculinity. He would often balk at Eli's plans, instinctively fearful of any suggestion of risk or hardship — like so many of them, he was clearly motivated more by a desire to spite his wealthy parents than any predilection for real crime — but he also never seemed to run out of something to prove, and it was a simple matter of insinuating that he might be weak or scared or gay to bully him into going along with anything Eli pleased.

"The fuck?" Clayton recoiled, stunned by the confrontation. "The hell'd I do? I'm no chicken. I'm with you in this. You know that."

The rest of the boys — there were four of them besides Clayton, between 14 and 19 — sniggered performatively at Clayton's cowardice. They were as scared as Clayton, Eli wagered, but likely more scared of the fist at the end of their leash than they were of getting caught by the police.

Before Eli had a chance to really rip into the boy, his radio erupted with sound. Clayton's relief was palpable when Eli turned to quickly pick up the receiver and listen.

"Last of the tellers are packing up and shutting down. You'll need to be quick," said the boy on the other end.

"Good. It's go time," Eli said.

Eli moved out without hesitation, and his band fell arrhythmically into step before long. He made no attempt to disguise his approach as he marched up to the doors of the bank and pushed them open, 10 minutes before scheduled close.

There were only two people left inside — a security guard and a young woman in a smart suit, who both looked visibly aggravated by their entry. They were moments from leaving work for the day, after all; their humdrum exasperation seemed to override any suspicious response to a group of seven roughed up looking boys strolling into the building.

"May I help you?" the woman asked. She had a thick accent — Greek, Eli guessed.

"Yeah," Eli said, leisurely strolling up to the till. "We'd like all the money you've got back there."

The security guard's face immediately hardened, and he reached for his baton. Milton, a 14 year old with the body mass of a toy poodle who was nevertheless probably the closest thing to a competent fighter Eli had, had the guard disarmed and on the ground with just a few dextrous shots. The kid managed to get the guard secured with some zipties — more difficult to ignore was the man's irritating grunting and yelling.

Eli pretended not to notice the old woman peeking down from the top of the stairs to the upper level office spaces. 

"See, this is what happens when you all go home early," Eli said, turning back to the startled woman behind the counter. She had yet to make any move. "Well, where's our cash?"

The teller seemed to have half a mind to protest, at least until Clayton shakily drew his gun from the waistband of his trousers and clicked the safety off. "D-do what he says," the boy stammered. "Or I shoot. I swear I will."

"Anthoula, just give them what they want," the security guard growled as he writhed uselessly on the ground. 

Tears welled up in the poor woman's eyes. "Please don't kill me," she begged as she fumbled for the key to unlock the till. "Please don't kill me. I've a daughter, please. Take it. Take it."

One of the other boys, James, produced a bag. Trying very much too hard to seem tough, he hollered, "Put it all in here! Now!"

Anthoula began shoving stacks of bills into the small cloth sack. She emptied out one front desk till, then opened another. All seemed to be going just as planned until the lights in the building cut out and metal bars suddenly descended over the doors with a resounding crash.

There was a tense moment of silence as everyone in the bank turned to look at the bars in surprise. The teller screamed, and everything devolved into chaos. 

"This _bitch,_ " Clayton shouted, his voice cracking, the gun in his hand trembling. "She did _something_ —"

Eli moved quickly to rip the gun from Clayton's hands before he managed to hurt himself. "It wasn't her, imbecile. We've watched her the whole time." 

"Sometimes they have buttons back there, you know, that can call the coppers," contributed Harry, a fat and useless waste of space.

Honestly, the old crone upstairs had some balls. Trapping them in there could've easily set them off, and sweet Anthoula and — Eli checked his nametag — Anton the security guard would be done for. 

"What do we do now, boss?" James asked, holding the bag of bills close to his chest. "Now the fuzz have got to be on their way, and we're _trapped_ in here!"

Eli hadn't bothered to investigate too deeply into what kind of security systems the bank was using, but it was no matter. He took a seat in one of the plush lobby chairs and relaxed, his hands folded behind his head. He slowly smiled. "Now we wait."

"W… what?"

"We wait for the police to get here," Eli repeated, as if James were _stupid._ (He was.) "I'm going with them."

Eli watched with amusement as panic gradually spread among the ranks. James immediately started crying; Clayton froze, so white even his acne seemed drained; Milton may have just pissed himself. 

"I'm 19," Harry wailed. "I can't get away with this like the rest of you! I'm going to prison! Real prison!"

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you robbed a bank, Harry," Eli said.

"What the fuck? What's wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"

Eli cast a glance out the storefront as the wailing sirens drew nearer. "I mean to be noticed," he said.

The police were swarming the building like pigs to a trough before long. Just as Eli began to wonder how the coppers would manage to get _into_ the building, the helpful old woman upstairs disengaged the security systems and gave them free access to walk right into the wide open arms of the law.

"Come out with your hands up!" the police cried through a megaphone.

The panicked boys all looked to Eli for a cue they surely must've known wasn't coming. Wordlessly, he stood up and made his way out through the doors.

There was a surprising force assembled, given how little of a threat Eli's group actually posed. They were armed to the teeth, and when Eli stepped out into the ring of fire, he enjoyed a symphony of cocking guns.

"It's a kid! Might be one of the hostages! Hold your fire!" someone shouted from behind the line of police vehicles.

Eli walked with a confident step, a smirk on his face and his hands in the air. "It was all me," he boldly announced. "I surrender. I'm going peacefully."

There was a moment of silence as Eli stopped, and the police anxiously waited for their orders. "Cuff him," their commander eventually shouted.

Eli stood still as the cops descended on him like buzzards on a carcass. They handled him roughly as they forced his hands behind his back and locked him into a set of flimsy metal handcuffs that dug painfully into his wrists. He went without incidence when they hauled him into the back of a squad car, and he gazed with disinterest out the window as the rest of his entourage was summarily subdued.

After speaking to the shaken employees inside, the police seemed content to wrap up their investigation. Eli counted himself lucky — all the rest of his crew were shoved into different cars, where he needn't listen to their incessant wailing. Eventually, after a tortuous period of waiting, an officer came to drive him down to the nick.

Eli stared out the window, bored. The station wasn't too far away, he knew, but there was a bit of traffic on the street and nobody seemed to care to use sirens to take a couple of kids to jail. They carried along, waiting patiently for the lights to turn.

And then something caught his eye.

There was a motorcyclist weaving through traffic a bit down the way, which was somewhat of a curiosity when observed in the presence of a procession of squad cars. Eli sat up and watched intently as the rider swerved between the tight gaps of the packed lines of vehicles.

Eli smiled when he saw the gun. He ducked.

The sound of gunfire rang out amidst a cacophony of blaring horns and muffled screaming. The bullets ricocheted off the side of the squad car, cracked the bulletproof glass of the rear window — the officer was cursing and swerving to avoid collision.

Finally, one of the bullets hit home. Eli heard the telltale sound of a tire burst and braced himself as the squad car loudly spun into a skid. He raised his head, dazed, when the car violently jolted and screeched to a stop; he saw the officer with his head down on the wheel, knocked out or dead. 

Smoke billowed from the engine. The sounds all around Eli mixed together into an unintelligible deafening racket. He felt whiplashed and disoriented; it took a moment for his vision to focus and his heart to settle amidst the wreckage. Tentatively, Eli looked out the window.

The rider aimed his gun right at Eli and fired.

Eli's vision went white and his chest seized and he didn't realize what was happening until he was face down on the bloody pavement. He felt himself being hauled to his feet again, and there was another loud shot and a burning heat and he discovered his hands free and his body unsupported — he stumbled in his attempt to stay upright.

"Get on!" the rider shouted. Apparently, he was a _she._

Eli felt his mind resolve in an instant of clarity. Adrenaline flooded his body and he scrambled to climb onto the back of the motorcycle; he worried for just a moment that his discombobulated lurching would destabilize the bike and send them flying into the blacktop, but the rider quickly corrected her balance and gunned it past the line of cars. Eli held on for dear life as she swung a hard left and jumped the sidewalk.

It seemed that the rest of the police were still hot on their tail; the screaming sirens were giving Eli a terrible headache. The bike never seemed to stop gaining speed — even when she swerved around other vehicles and took erratic turns, she didn't risk decelerating. It was a miracle they weren't _dead._

They'd only traveled a few blocks before they reached a congested road in front of a major shopping center still bustling with people. When traffic came to a standstill, she swerved back onto the sidewalk, paying no heed to the pedestrians — they knew well enough to move out of the way of the screeching tires.

It was with a dawning horror that Eli realized what she was planning to _do._

"Hold on tight, honey," the rider said. Eli didn't dare disobey her.

Eli braced himself as she aimed the bike directly towards the glass forefront of the shopping center and raced at it at full speed. She popped the wheel and crashed the bike straight through the glass, which showered his body and cut into his unprotected arms and legs, but the bike didn't stop, and he didn't let go — when he looked up he saw only a blur of mannequins and flying clothing and droves of people screaming and diving out of the way. 

The officers couldn't well drive after them into a mall, so they were cutting themselves a wide berth. The speed at which they were traveling, which was already unreasonable on a road, was terrifying inside a crowded shopping center. Eli's heart was beating in his throat so hard he was worried he might throw it up.

The woman clearly knew exactly where she wanted to go. She cut through the length of the shopping center until they were bearing down on the line of elevators that provided access to the attached parking garage, and there was no way they were going to slow down in time.

They were maybe seconds from a grizzly collision when the doors of a shaft finally slid open; the people inside screamed and scrambled out of the way just before the bike rocketed inside. 

Eli was thrown clear off the bike when she brought it to a lurching stop inside of the elevator, just saving herself from a crash — but Eli flew right into the wall, smashing into it several feet up, and then fell just as painfully onto the floor.

"Ohhhh, that looked like it hurt. Are you alright?" the rider asked; Eli couldn't see her face under the helmet, but she _sounded_ concerned.

He would've liked to have answered, but when he tried to open his mouth he found all of the air gone from his lungs. He floundered on the ground, gasping, until she reached down and pulled him to his feet.

"I-I-I-I'm ffff…. ffffine," Eli choked out, leaning on her as if all the bones had gone from his legs.

Eli's entire body was screaming with pain. The woman managed to both support Eli and walk the bike out of the elevator when they arrived at their destination — waiting for them just outside of was someone Eli certainly never expected to see again.

" _You,_ " Eli snarled, his face contorting in disgust.

Ocelot completely ignored Eli. He raised a hand in friendly greeting to the woman as she passed the bike over into his care. "Take good care of her," she warned.

"Always," Ocelot said, smiling.

When Eli tried to linger and incite a nasty and ill-timed confrontation, the woman took him by the hand and pulled him along with her. She had no time to waste.

Eli forgot all about the aching pain in his body. He stared down at their hands as the woman walked briskly ahead of him. She didn't let go, even after he was cooperatively following along. No one had ever held his hand before. It was tingling with warmth.

They didn't go far. The woman found a car to her liking, and hastily tied a slipknot into a sturdy string she procured from a pocket of her jumpsuit. She expertly slipped it under the frame of the door and jimmied it until the knot secured around the lock tab, and then she pulled it up and open. She got inside, and then unlocked the passenger door so Eli could climb in after.

Eli stared in awe as the woman removed her helmet. Her golden hair framed her face like a halo as she shook it free, and his heart constricted when she turned and looked to him with a fond smile. "So, how was your day at school?" she asked.

An earnest grin forced its way onto Eli's face and he _laughed._ His ribs instantly offered a counterargument that put a quick stop to that, though.

The woman tossed her helmet into the back seat and reached down to procure another tool from her pockets. She forcefully hammered the flathead screwdriver into the ignition and turned it like a key, and within moments the car was running and ready to go.

"Remember your seatbelt, honey," she reminded him.

Eli wordlessly buckled himself in.

He didn't know what to even _say._ They weren't out of the woods yet; he sat quietly as the woman pulled the car out of its spot and slowly, inconspicuously began to drive the car down to the exit of the garage.

Eli checked himself in the mirror. He looked like a complete disaster. He would have to do his very best to look like he wasn't on the run from the cops.

They rolled up to the exit, and were greeted by a very surly ticket man on post. "Ticket, please," the man in the booth demanded.

The woman looked around in the vehicle before she found the car's ticket tucked away in the driver's side visor. She handed it over with a smile, and he took it without incidence — Eli was worried, but he took no notice of the screwdriver obviously sticking out of the ignition, nor the teenager sitting in the passenger seat with cut-covered arms and legs. "That'll be £2," the man droned.

She produced a bill from her pockets and passed it over. "Keep the ch—"

Just as the man hit the lever to lift the gate, a piercing alarm rang out through the building. He sighed. "My apologies, ma'am, but you'll have to —"

The woman pretended not to hear him and just barely made it out under the quickly dropping bar — the man in the booth shouted angrily in their wake.

"Get down until we're on the highway," she commanded.

He was nervous, but Eli kept his head down, and the police they passed did nothing to stop them. They drove for a while, intermittently passing the sounds of sirens.

"Okay," she said. "I think you're fine now, sweetheart."

Eli tentatively allowed himself to sit up, and found the calm of the motorway almost unreal. They were going near at 130 km/h and the speed felt _glacial._ He supposed he was in some sort of shock.

"Are you hurt very badly?" she asked.

He looked himself over. His arms were covered in cuts, some fairly deep, and he was sure his back was covered in bruises, but nothing felt broken or very wrong. "No, I don't think so," he answered.

"That's good."

They fell into an awkward silence as they peeled down the motorway. Eli tried to look around for some idea of where they were. He wasn't all that familiar with the roads of London, given that the last time he'd been back here was years ago, and he obviously couldn't drive back then. The best he could puzzle out was that they were headed north.

They carried along like that for a long while, until they passed the edges of the suburbs and reached into sparser settlements. Without explanation, the woman started to pull off at an exit. 

"Where are we going?" Eli finally thought to ask. 

"We're just stopping at a safehouse along the way," she explained. "We can't drive this car very far."

"Very far? Where are you taking me?"

The woman took a moment to consider her answer. "I think it's time you learn who you really are, Eli," she said.

An odd mixture of excitement and dread pooled in Eli's stomach. "What? What are you talking about? Who are y—"

"We'll explain everything when we get to the safehouse."

Eli managed to clamp his mouth shut, and anxiously waited as the car weaved through the surface roads.

They drove until civilization had all but thinned out, over roads cut through densely wooded forests and over expansive planes. They eventually made their way up a hill, on just the hint of a dirt path, and found a little cluster of wooden shacks. It looked like a farmhouse, but there was no hint of an actual farm nearby.

There was another car parked outside, and a motorcycle set up by the door. Eli recognized it immediately as the bike from earlier — which meant _he_ was here.

The woman parked the stolen car at the top of the hill and got out. When Eli followed her, he discovered anew exactly how much everything hurt. All the same, he managed to stagger his way up to the door and let himself in behind her.

The house was small and cozy on the inside. It seemed to have only a couple of rooms — there was a living space and a small kitchen with no appliances, and Eli could see a bedroom on the other side of a cracked-open door. It was sparsely furnished, with just a couple of rickety wooden chairs scattered about the room. In one of them, Ocelot was sat with his legs crossed and his gloved hands folded in his lap. 

"Glad to see you made it," Ocelot drawled. 

"I sped as fast as I could and you still beat us here!" the woman affably exclaimed, approaching him where he sat. "How did you manage it?"

"I always do."

Ocelot stood up when she reached him, and Eli watched in horror as the woman… _hugged him._ She released a heavy sigh as Ocelot embraced her in turn, gently rubbing circles in her back. It was a weird and intimate display, and Eli hated looking at it.

Was she _fucking_ Ocelot? There was no way. Even Eli knew that Ocelot was… this was just _weird._ He didn't want to think about any of the things Ocelot did.

"You've got a cut on your face," Ocelot remarked when he pulled back to studiously inspect the woman for damage.

She brought a hand to her cheek to feel the injury. "Oh, I hadn't even noticed. It's nothing."

"I brought a kit. I'll get you patched up."

Eli stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms and legs visibly bruised, knees skinned, covered nearly head to toe in blood-streaked injuries, as Ocelot completely ignored him to tend to a single scrape on the woman's face.

It's not like he _wanted_ Ocelot's attention, but he nevertheless found himself annoyed that he didn't have it. " _Hello,_ " Eli moodily said.

Ocelot managed to spare Eli a fleeting glance as he disinfected the woman's injury. "Hello, Eli. It's been a while," he said, fixing Eli with a smirk that had lost none of its smugness in the three years since they'd last met.

"Not nearly long enough," Eli spat.

The woman sighed. "Oh, Eli…"

"I'm used to his act," Ocelot said, shaking his head.

Eli had had enough. "What the fuck is even going _on?_ " he demanded, brandishing his finger at the woman. "Who _are_ you? Why is _he_ here?"

"Why don't you sit down?" Ocelot suggested. 

"Why don't _you_ sit down!?"

Instead of arguing, Ocelot produced a tight smile, finished up his work and returned to his seat.

Eli snorted, and theatrically dragged over one of the chairs himself. He endeavored to make as much noise as possible as he slammed the chair into place and stomped his feet. He promptly commenced pouting.

The woman, on the other hand, took a wet rag and the first aid kit from Ocelot and came to kneel in front of Eli where he sat. Eli raised an eyebrow, but didn't object when she began to wipe him clean. "Let's start with my name. You can call me EVA," she said.

"EVA," Eli repeated. He winced as she dabbed disinfectant into a particularly deep cut on his forearm. "That's… a nice name."

"Thank you. You have a very nice name too, Eli," EVA said. She moved on to cleaning his knees, which were only scraped, but seemed to hurt the worst of any of his cuts. "Of course, I gave it to you."

Eli fell silent. So it was true. "You're my mother," he eventually said.

"Yes. I am," EVA answered. She took out some pads of gauze and worked to dress the worst of his injuries. "I don't think any of your cuts will need stitches."

"Um… good," Eli mumbled. He looked up to Ocelot, who was watching them with an unsettlingly intense gaze. "But… I'm a clone. So you aren't my _mother._ "

"Not in that sense, no. But I did carry you inside me, like any other mother."

Eli furrowed his brow. "What did you mean before? When you said… _'the man in Outer Heaven is nothing but a phantom'_."

This time, Ocelot was the one who answered. "It's exactly as it sounds," he said. "The man who commands Outer Heaven today is not Big Boss — or, rather, _that_ Big Boss, is not your father."

"I… what?"

"In a way, he's a copy, just like you," EVA said.

"You are Big Boss's genetic legacy, but the phantom carries on his _meme,_ " Ocelot said.

EVA nodded. "Big Boss is more than just a person. He's an idea."

"Big Boss is a vision for the future — a banner under which humanity will unite to usher in the coming age."

Eli's head was swimming. They sounded _insane._ How did his father manage to reduce people to this kind of fanaticism? "What about Diamond Dogs? Who was _he?_ My father, or the phantom?"

"The phantom," Ocelot replied.

It felt like the blood in Eli's veins had started to boil. "So I've still never — never even _met_ my father."

EVA shook her head. She finished cleaning Eli up, and stood. "No."

Eli's fury dissipated just as quickly as it came, and the void was swiftly filled by _exhaustion._ He dragged a hand down his face. "This is... ridiculous."

Ocelot laughed. "It is, a little," he admitted. "But it's no matter. You, just like the phantom, are a part of Big Boss's legacy, and it is our duty as his stewards to guide you into the fullness of your potential as heir to the world he will leave behind."

"Not as a tool of Zero, _or_ of Big Boss, but as your own man," EVA added.

"What does _that_ mean?" Eli asked, incredulous.

EVA found her own chair, and pulled it over so that the three of them were sat in a circle. "We're sorry that we haven't been there for you, Eli. I've always regretted how the _Les Enfants Terribles_ project was handled. If it had been up to me —"

Ocelot cut her off. "It's taken us some time to make the arrangements, but things are going to be different for you now."

"You won't be alone anymore," EVA said. 

"I don't understand what's going on," Eli said. "Where are we going? What are you going to do with me?"

EVA and Ocelot shared a look, as if they both intended to pass off the burden of telling Eli the news. After a terse but silent exchange, EVA sighed and said, "Eli, we've decided to send you to _boarding school._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a good 80k of this already written, so I guess I'll put up a chapter a week until I finish. *hollow laugh as my life leaves my body*


	4. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies to any actual British person who has to read this. I did exactly as much research as Kojima would: absolutely none. Enjoy!

**30 August, 1987. St. Francis School.**

The old car rolled up to the school just before eight in the morning.

St. Francis School for Boys was located in the absolute middle of nowhere at the end of a long winding road through a densely wooded forest, and its isolation was made all the more complete by the fortified gatehouse walling the campus off from the outside world. Today, though, the tremendous wrought iron gates were left open for cars to come and go.

EVA pulled into the car park just on the other side of the gate, and drove around for a time before she found an open spot. It was probably as full as it'd ever be.

The sky was clear and the air was cool, but everything felt _damp._ When Eli stepped off of the pavement of the car park, the grass squelched sickeningly beneath his feet. The sun was so bright that Eli had to squint even when he was looking at the ground.

"We've just got to check you in at the main office before you can move in," EVA said. She hauled Eli's bag out of the back seat and slung it over her shoulder — it was surprisingly laden, but she didn't seem burdened by it at all. When Eli hesitated, she reached out and took his hand. 

"I don't want to go to school," Eli complained.

"I know, honey. It's only for a little while."

Eli hated the _uniforms_ most of all. It made him feel like an utter ponce to be dressed up in a rich boy blazer and tie, and even surrounded by kids all in the same attire, he worried someone might have the audacity to think him _soft_. 

But EVA asked him to put it on, so he did, and she asked him to just give it a chance, so he would. He surprised himself with his own willingness to cooperate, upon reflection — he'd have had a knife in Ocelot's gut and a boat paddled halfway to Normandy by now if his mother hadn't been there.

He had a _mother._ That was so strange. He couldn't stop staring at her hand.

The administrative office was a modest building located just past a towering structure wrought from stone that looked closer to a castle than a school. They joined a throng of children and their parents as they approached the open front doors. The kids seemed mostly quite young — around 11 or so, Eli guessed — but there were a few his age or older. 

They filtered inside with the others and entered the spacious lobby. There was an abundance of receptionists all set up on tables, and they were all marked a certain alphabetical range for the students they were checking in. EVA got them in line for A to D, and they only waited a short while until the ancient old man on duty addressed them.

"Name."

"Eli Doe," EVA said.

Eli was oddly nervous as he watched the old man scan his list and put a check by Eli's name. The man rifled through his stack of packets until he found the one that belonged to Eli, and then handed it over. "Next!"

They moved aside, and EVA carefully inspected the contents of the manilla envelope. There was a set of instructions inside, in addition to a litany of forms and other minutia. "All right. We've already filed all the important paperwork, so that's good... now we need to pick up your schedule from the academic offices, and then we can get you moved in... hmm, we must've received notice of which house you're in, but I forgot."

EVA picked up his hand again as she lead him down the marked corridors leading to the academic offices. "Which house?" Eli repeated.

"There are a number of residence halls the students here live in," EVA explained. "I think there are six houses in all. You'll be randomly assigned, but it'll determine stuff like which sports teams you can play on."

"This all sounds like a pain," Eli grumbled.

"Well, this is going to be much easier than the education _I_ got," EVA assured him, patting him lightly on the back.

Eli sighed, and allowed himself to be pushed along. The academic offices weren't far from the lobby, and a woman at the desk called them over straight away.

EVA gave all of the information the secretary needed to run off Eli's schedule. "Remind us which classes he's registered for?" she asked.

"Let's see. This is the first year since switching over to GCSEs — you're registered for English, Mathematics, Biology, Physics, Chemistry, French, Religious Education, Modern World History and Art," the secretary answered.

Eli's eyes widened. "Wh— that's so many —"

The woman handed over the sheets of paper. "Your schedule here will tell you when and where you'll be attending these classes. You'll get a tour of campus during transfer induction, once you're moved into your house. Oh, and dear, you'll have to cut your hair."

Eli recoiled. "What's wrong with my hair?" 

"Against the dress code. Boys must keep their hair off the collar, and no radical cuts. You mustn't shave your head, either. It's all explained in the handbook. I'm sure your house parents will give you an earful."

"All right, thank you," EVA said, and began herding Eli away before he could launch into a tantrum.

"But I don't want to cut my hair!" Eli protested. 

"I'll cut it for you, sweetie, it's fine."

"But I like having long hair."

"It'll grow back, baby. I'll try to leave as much as I can."

Eli couldn't believe this was happening. She was going to do what they said, just like that!? "But..."

EVA managed to get him out of the main hall and across the yard without a meltdown. They came to a grouping of buildings that, due to the high concentration of stuffy old people helping their children haul around luggage, Eli assumed were the dorms.

"Hmm. It says in your packet that you're in Wolf Hall," EVA said.

" _Wolf Hall?_ " Eli complained. "Great. More _dogs._ " 

"Oh, it doesn't matter. They're all the same," she said, gesturing dismissively. She leafed through her stack of papers to consult the campus map. "Which building is it?"

Eli cast a glance around. "Err, maybe the one with the wolf on it."

"Oh, yeah," EVA said, following Eli's gaze. "Okay, let's go get you checked in."

The secretary in the academic offices had been right — the first thing the crone staffing the desk in the dorm building did was click her tongue and nag Eli about his hair. 

"You've got to get that cut straight away," she said. "You look slovenly, boy."

Eli meant to protest, but his mother beat him to it — this time, EVA wasn't so content to go along quietly. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't insult my son," she snappily replied.

The old woman looked taken aback by EVA's objection. "There was no _insult_. Your son's hair is simply not in accordance with the dress code of our institution," she said, jowls quivering pendulously, sounding like a caricature of a prudish nag.

"Yes, I _know,_ and I'll cut it after we've checked in. You can communicate that without calling him _slovenly._ "

"I only speak the truth."

"Check in my son," EVA practically snarled through her tight lipped smile. 

The old woman huffed indignantly. "Goodness. Is this how you conduct business in _America?_ "

" _Check. In. My. Son._ "

" _My word,_ " the woman replied, gesturing with her hands incomprehensibly. She had a strange tremulous posture and voice, and seemed to emphasize every other word arbitrarily. " _Well_ — I _never_ — may I have your son's _name?_ "

EVA handed over all the identification the woman needed, and eventually, they had the room key. The hag seemed incapable of not continuing to sound superlatively offended as she rattled through all the policies and explanations of the day. "Your induction is at _noon,_ and you'll meet with the Housemaster _then._ Be sure you've tidied up before then, my dear."

Eli graced the desk hag with an obscene gesture he made sure EVA didn't see. 

They made it up to the third floor of the hall and let themselves into Eli's dorm room. It was pretty small, just as Eli had expected. There wasn't much furnishing in it besides the three beds, which were spaced out between the two large windows on the far side wall. There was a closet, and each bed was paired with a chest at its foot, but the room offered little other storage besides. The door on the far side of the room was the bathroom, Eli surmised — at least he wouldn't have to use a public shower. That much was a relief.

"Well," EVA announced, sucking in a breath. "Here we are, honey."

Eli dropped his bag onto his bed. "Are you going to cut my hair now?" he moodily asked.

EVA sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Whatever. Just get it over with."

"Come with me, honey. It's easier to cut it when it's wet," she said, and Eli reluctantly followed her into the washroom.

Eli sighed heavily and wet his hair in the sink. He stared darkly into the mirror as his mother came around to stand behind him with a sharp knife; his petulant scowl deepened as she took the blade to his hair and began carefully cutting the length of it away.

It didn't take her long to finish; she just did a simple trim. "There we go," she said, after dropping the clippings into the washroom wastebin. "I left as much of it as I could — it'll be a bit shorter when it dries, so it'll be off the collar."

Eli found he didn't really care about the haircut anymore. He'd put off thinking about it for a while, and he certainly didn't dare ask, but it had reached the point where he couldn't dodge the fact anymore. "You're going to leave again," he said.

EVA paused, and Eli watched her expression fall in the mirror. When she didn't immediately reply to deny it, he knew it was true — he held his breath as she ruminated on the best response. 

"I promise I'll be back to see you, Eli," EVA eventually sighed. "If I could, I'd never leave."

"Why can't you?"

"There are a lot of things I need to be out there doing — and I have to be there for your father when he needs me, too." 

Eli scowled irritably. This was just another thing his father was robbing from him. "Whatever. Fine. Come back, or don't. I don't care."

"Eli..."

Eli turned away and walked back into the bedroom. He didn't want to look at her anymore. "I want to be alone now," he said.

"I'll be sure to write to you," EVA assured him. "I'll tell you all about what I'm doing. Well — everything that's safe to tell you. And if you do well in school, maybe someday you can come work with me."

Eli turned back to his mother, and cursed himself for allowing himself to hope. He knew well enough that everything she said had to be a lie. He realized now that he would never have a real family, and that he was a fool to ever believe. "Just go away already," he said.

His mother sighed, and made a great show of being sad. He didn't bother to resist when she pulled him into a hug, but he made no effort to reciprocate, either. Eventually, she had to step back, and bid him a final goodbye.

Eli sat down on his bed and stared wistfully out the door. The moment his mother was out of sight, the absurdity of it all seemed to crash down on top of him like a ton of bricks. What was he even _doing_ here?

He got up and moved to the window, from which he could see the entrance far below. He watched with a faint sense of longing as EVA emerged from the building and disappeared around the corner to the car park.

He considered just bolting now, running away and never coming back — it certainly wouldn't have been particularly difficult. But even as he contemplated the possibility, he realized that _disappointing his mother_ was a less attractive prospect than even suffering through school — and the fact they'd left him alone at all certainly meant that she knew that, too. The acknowledgment was embarrassing.

Eli was interrupted from his self-reflection by the noisy footfalls rapidly approaching the door to his room. The first of his _roommates,_ Eli surmised — he certainly wasn't looking forward to this aspect of his new life in the least.

The boy who walked through the door was about the most contemptible creature Eli had ever laid eyes upon. He looked to be about Eli's age, tall and well groomed and very clearly a pampered little piece of shit. Eli already wanted to punch him — maybe he'd find a reason to later.

The boy carried none of his own numerous bags; his heavily laden parents followed in shortly after him. The father, a distinguished gentleman around his 60s with a meticulously sculpted mustache, visibly ailed from the exertion of hauling his son's extremely excessive luggage all the way to the third floor. The mother — _step_ -mother, probably — looked like she couldn't be any older than 30. Her large breasts strained the buttons of her blouse, which she had undoubtedly bought just slightly too small on purpose. Eli regarded the lot of them with mild disgust. 

"Oh. Good day," the other boy said upon noticing Eli's presence. He did nothing to help as his parents set about dealing with his things. "You must be one of my suitemates."

"Yeah," Eli answered, terse. He didn't move from the window next to the bed he'd claimed.

The boy's excruciatingly cultivated posh accent grated on Eli terribly, but somehow, his displeasure didn't cause the boy to stop speaking. "I don't believe I've seen you about before. Are you a transfer?"

"I guess."

"Oh, splendid. I'll have to show you about campus. I'm Charles, by the way."

"Yeah, okay," Eli replied.

As the awkward air built between them, Charles made a misguided attempt to release the tension with some affable humor. "Might you happen to have a name yourself?" 

Oh, he'd _forgotten_. He couldn't go by his given name, of course — that would be ridiculous — but he hadn't yet thought up a proper moniker better than the simple one he'd started using those few months on the streets of London. He was partial to the one he'd used in Africa, but the Kikongo would hardly have the same effect in England — and his _whiteness_ was hardly a notable trait anymore. In absence of time to properly sit and think, he answered, "Snake is fine."

The stupid little grin fell off of Charles's face, but his parents were too busy arguing about something completely inconsequential to pay the children's conversation any mind. " _Snake?_ " Charles repeated, and laughed uncomfortably. "I... I take it that's not the name your mother gave you."

"It's the name you'll call me," Eli said.

Eli stared Charles right in the eye, and could feel the boy wilt beneath Eli's force of dominance. That much was good — even if this kid were utterly insufferable, at least it looked like he'd swiftly find his place. "Haha, wow, all right," he eventually answered, and the silence that followed was evidently so awkward that he felt motivated enough to help his parents unpack his things. 

Eli looked out the window in silent thought as Charles and his family took near to an eternity to unload all of the luggage. When all was said and done, Charles's parents bid him a tearful goodbye, and then left the kid alone in his room with Eli.

"So, um," Charles tentatively began. "I think I'll go down to the dining hall and get something to eat now that I'm settled in. Would you like to come with?"

How had he not figured it out by now? "No," Eli coldly replied.

"Oh. Well. Right, then. I'll... just be going, I suppose."

"Yes, you will," Eli confirmed.

Charles's mouth opened and closed, and then he quietly let himself out of the room. 

When Eli was left alone again, he found himself without anything to _do_. 

Induction wasn't until noon, and it was barely 9 in the morning still — getting moved in took a much shorter time than it'd felt, evidently. He lay down on his bed, but he wasn't really tired, and staring at the ceiling didn't particularly excite him. He didn't feel like unpacking. Eli considered maybe having a walk around campus after all. He'd have to find where all his classes were held, and figure out what all the best crimes to do would be. 

Just when Eli had decided to head down himself, he was interrupted by the door to the dorm opening once again. This time, there was no preceding raucous fanfare — this kid let himself in as quietly as he could, and brought no one else in with him.

Eli remained sat on his bed and watched the other boy quietly, but took care to not make it seem like he _cared_ he was there. The second boy was much shorter in stature than Charles, and every aspect of his body language telegraphed that he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground and never be seen again. He had messily cut, jet black hair, and, much to Eli's surprise, a particular quality to his facial structure that invited a second look. One of his parents — since he was _here,_ probably his mother — had to have been Asian.

The kid began putting away his things straight away. He didn't bring much of anything — he had less baggage than even Eli. It didn't seem as if he'd brought along anything besides uniforms and a toothbrush.

Eli went to pains to muster an aura of unapproachability, but when he realized that this kid did in fact seem perfectly content to carry on as if they'd not even seen each other, _Eli_ was the one left feeling awkward. "Hey," he said.

The kid was evidently startled that Eli spoke at all, but he spared Eli only a glance. "Hi."

"You were assigned to this room," Eli stated.

"Yes."

"And you're Asian."

The boy paused. "... Yes."

The kid returned to wordlessly putting away his things. While Eli didn't _want_ to have a conversation with this kid, he found himself agitated that he wasn't the one setting the terms of how they weren't going to be talking. "Tell me your name," he demanded.

"Samuel."

"I'm Snake."

"Okay," Samuel said. If he were surprised or bothered by the name at all, he made no indication of it. He finished unpacking, and then sat on his bed with a book. It was missing its jacket, so Eli couldn't tell what it was. 

Eli was growing mildly irritated. "I'm a transfer," he said.

"I'm not," Samuel replied. He turned a page of his book.

"You're from the south, but your parents sent you up here."

"Yes."

Samuel made himself very unassuming through his posture, but upon closer inspection, his face was actually quite striking. His eyelashes were longer than most girls Eli had ever seen, and his clear skin and fine features made him look younger than he was — Eli wondered if he was even wearing makeup. The structure of his face was solid, though — not particularly rugged or masculine, but carefully modeled into smooth but distinguished planes. He looked soft, but not necessarily fragile. 

"Your father doesn't want you around, because you're a half-breed," Eli observed.

Eli's alarmingly blunt and direct insensitivity seemed to give Samuel pause, but he didn't even bother looking up from his book. "Probably," he said.

Good. They'd already found something in common. "My father hates me, too. He thinks I'm an abomination."

Finally, that seemed to catch Samuel's attention well enough to motivate him to give a reply longer than two words. "You look white enough," he said.

"My aberrations go much deeper than the shape of my eyes," Eli muttered darkly. "You'd never understand."

Samuel replied with a very, very blank look. His silence hung heavily in the air. "... All right," he said, and then returned to his reading.

_Ugh._ Talking to this kid was like communicating with a brick wall, and Eli had had enough for today. He got up and moved to the door. "I'm going to walk around campus," he announced.

This time, Samuel didn't even bother to reply at all.


	5. Causing a Commotion

The start of term proved itself predictably dull.

The day began with breakfast and roll call, far too early in the morning, followed by assembly. Eli walked with Samuel and Charles to the assembly hall, where every student in the school filtered in to take their place. Eli lined up beside his roommates and waited, but he quickly grew antsy. The room felt hot and muggy by the time the rest of the student body filled in the back.

The steady murmur of the students' chattering died down when a man climbed the steps to take the stage before them. He was tall and thin, with a dark tailored suit that well complemented his greying hair and beard — he looked wealthy and important, and Eli instantly despised him.

"Good morning, students," the man said. He had a clear, authoritative voice that easily carried through the hall, but there was something about him that put Eli at unease. Maybe it was his dead grey eyes that seemed to lead to an abyss rather than a soul. "I am your headmaster, Joseph Kugler. To those of you who are returning, welcome back. For those of you who are joining us for the first time, I am excited and proud to formally welcome you to our institution. To all, I wish a wonderful new term."

The headmaster carried on with his introductions, rattling off boring information about the school that Eli didn't care enough to listen to. A few other people came up to introduce themselves and give similarly substanceless speeches; the last person to come before the hall was a doddering old man dressed in black who brought a tattered bible up to the podium. He had nothing to announce besides, "Now, let us join in prayer."

The old man opened the book and began to read. Eli stood and watched on in dumbfounded silence as the boys around him rote recited the prayer. He didn't know the words, and wouldn't have said them if he had.

When the old man concluded, he lowered his head in silence and the crowd followed suit. With that done, the faculty released the students to classes for the day. 

Eli regrouped with Samuel outside, along with Charles, who was very concerned about seeing Eli off to the right classes. It was annoying. "Do you have your schedule? I can make sure you get off to the right build—"

"I _know_ where to go," Eli snapped. "I don't need you to hold my hand and walk me through it."

Charles recoiled at Eli's hostility, and seemed unsure as to how to respond. "Goodness, I was just — well, fine, then, I'll simply — ah, n-nevermind. Good day, then," he said, and turned to leave in embarrassed huff.

With the annoying pest banished, Eli turned back to Samuel. "Where do we go?" he asked.

Samuel regarded Eli with a blank expression, and then headed off in the direction of class.

 

***

 

Eli's first course was Modern World History. He shared it with Samuel, so he was able to follow him to it without incident. He took a seat towards the back of the class, and was fortunate enough that the rest of the students saw fit to allow him the space he sought; there were more desks than there were students, so he didn't have to suffer anyone sitting right next to him.

The teacher entered not seconds before the official start of first period. He was an old man with a drooping face and leathery skin, dressed in a tweed ensemble about as boring as Eli anticipated his class would be. "All right," he announced in a dry and gravelly voice that made him sound like he gargled knives every morning. He walked over to the blackboard and scrawled his name on it in chalk. "My name is Dr. Thomas. God knows why I'm teaching here. Try not to forget my name, it isn't hard."

With a heavy sigh, he dropped his briefcase onto the teacher's desk and began rifling through the contents. Eventually, he located the sheet of paper he was looking for, and stood at the fore of the class. "Taking attendance now, pay attention."

Eli rested his chin on his hand in boredom as Dr. Thomas went down the list. When he reached Eli's name, Eli kept silent.

" _Eli Doe?_ " the teacher repeated, not even attempting to hide his exasperation. "Is _Eli Doe_ here?"

When Eli didn't answer, Thomas grumbled, crossed it out on his list and moved on. After reaching the end, he asked, "Is there anyone here whose name I didn't call?"

Eli raised his hand.

"If I didn't call your name, you aren't in the right course," the teacher said.

"There's a name on your list, but it isn't mine," Eli said. "Call me Snake."

Dr. Thomas stared at Eli as if he'd just taken a shit in the middle of the room. 

A rash of hushed murmuring broke out through the class, along with a few nervous giggles. Eli didn't care. He stood his ground, staring back at Thomas without fear.

"Where are you from, son?" Dr. Thomas asked. 

A question with a complicated answer. Eli settled on, "London."

Dr. Thomas produced a hollow laugh. "Ah, I know your lot. Everything's about making life just a little bit harder for mummy and daddy, isn't it?"

"I —"

"Listen," the teacher interjected. "Let's cut this off at the head. I am not your father. I do not have the time or patience for desperate ploys for attention. I actually don't care what you think of me or whether or not you like my class. I'm here to teach you the academic subject in which you are enrolled, and you are going to sit here, _quietly,_ for the duration of our time together — whether or not you _learn_ anything is entirely up to you. But I will not tolerate disruption. Is that clear?"

Eli was almost a little taken aback. Everyone in the class was staring right at him, breaths held. Eventually, Eli just snorted. "Wasn't planning on being _awake,_ " he said.

"Keep your mouth shut, and button up your damn shirt," Dr. Thomas said, scowling deeply.  
Dr. Thomas evidently decided that even responding to Eli's dramatic eye roll wasn't worth the effort, went back to the top of his list, marked Eli as present, and began the class.

History was never especially exciting, and the first day of a history class was even less so. Dr. Thomas explained the syllabus, distributed the textbook and got them started on the lecture material. The topics were dull, but Eli found himself mildly amused by how much undisguised contempt for his students and job Dr. Thomas emanated as he spoke. His dour disposition was interesting, if nothing else.

With that class wrapped up, Thomas sent them along to the next period. Eli's next class was French, which he didn't share with Samuel — when he asked the boy where it'd be, Samuel shrugged and left for his own class.

Begrudgingly, Eli extracted his schedule from his onerous bookbag and inspected it for the room number. Thankfully, it was just down the hall of the humanities building — he made it in and took his place at the back.

This time, the teacher was already there; instead of a decrepit old man, their teacher was an alarmingly young woman. She didn't look that much older than any of the kids — 25 at most, Eli guessed. Probably new to teaching — she had a bright smile and a light in her eyes that he imagined would swiftly die.

This class was much the same routine. Eli ignored his name when called, and insisted to be called Snake.

"Are you, ah — an immigrant?" the teacher, Miss Borrel, asked, attempting her best approximation of delicacy.

"Yeah, whatever," Eli said.

"W-well, then, that's just fine, isn't it? Oh, when you get the chance, your shirt's unbuttoned, dear. Swell! Let's start learning some French, boys!"

After a mind-numbingly simple introduction to French conducted for an audience no older than five, Eli was tremendously relieved to be released for lunch. They got a full hour of free time to go down to the dining hall and eat; Eli followed his classmates over to the building, but as he passed through the food lines, found the offerings largely unpalatable. He decided to take an apple and have a walk about.

He couldn't track down Samuel in the dining hall, so he went outside to wander around the campus. Eventually, he spotted the boy out in the yard — he was sat on a bench with a book which he was attempting to read, but, for some reason, had an attendant group of older boys crowded around him. 

Eli narrowed his eyes, and warily approached until he was close enough to listen in on what they were saying.

"... can't believe you're back here again after what happened last year," the boy in front of Samuel gloated. He was a sandy-haired, greasy fop with a nose big enough to put an eagle to shame. It lent his haughty intonations a decidedly nasal quality. "I thought for sure you'd have moved back to — _wherever it is_ that you're from."

Samuel looked up to the boy with a blank expression, but said nothing. He ultimately decided it best to return to reading without engaging.

"I'm _talking_ to you," the boy said, as if offended that Samuel wasn't affording his blatant goading attention. 

Eli tired of sitting back and watching. He tossed his apple core in a wastebin on the edge of the yard and made his approach; the boy hassling Samuel didn't immediately notice, but his lackeys did. One of them tugged the boy on the arm as Eli came up beside them. 

"What the fuck is this?" Eli asked, looking from Samuel to the group of boys. They were all skinny, white-faced little shits who looked like they'd break if Eli gave them too nasty a look. 

The boy seemed startled to be challenged at all. He and his lackeys looked between each other before he asked, "Um, do I know you?" The implication of the question wasn't so much a request to know who Eli was, but why Eli thought he had any business even _speaking_ to them.

"Name's Snake," Eli introduced himself. "Who the fuck are you?"

The boy produced a scoffing laugh and answered, "Wow, you _must_ be new. I'm Stephen —"

"Wait — I decided I don't care," Eli interjected before Stephen Whatever could inevitably launch into a soliloquy about how important his father was. "Leave."

Stephen raised an eyebrow and produced a smug smirk. "Whatever. Freaks will be freaks, I suppose," he concluded, attempting to pass his cowardly retreat for nonchalant disinterest. "Let's go."

Eli watched the group of boys leave with his fists clenched and almost wished he'd beaten them to the ground right then and there. But the moment had passed, and he was left alone with Samuel. He turned back and asked, "What was that about?" 

Samuel looked up to Eli. "Well... you saw it," he answered.

"Why do you let them treat you like that?" Eli demanded, rounding on Samuel with a rather threatening tone and posture for someone coming to stand in his support. 

"There's nothing to be done about it. They'll always target those of us who are different," Samuel answered. He looked back down to the book in his lap. "It's fine. I'm used to it."

"That's a load of bullshit," Eli spat. The fury was rising in his blood like an unstaunchable tide. "You're _better_ than them, and they should know that. You should _make_ them know that."

"How? I've not the power to convince them of anything. They've always mocked me."

Eli reached for the knife he hid beneath his uniform. "If they won't listen to your words, there are _other_ ways," he suggested.

Samuel stared at the glint of Eli's knife as if transfixed; he was neither surprised nor fearful. "But that would be..."

"I know how these cowards work," Eli said. "One good lick, and no one will ever be foolish enough to disrespect you _again._ "

The boy appeared to consider it, but was unconvinced. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to get into a fight."

"You don't need to be good at it," Eli laughed. The lot of them would fold at even the slightest threat. "But I'd teach you, if you wanted."

Samuel looked out over the yard, to where the group of boys were walking and speaking among themselves. They weren't even thinking about what they'd said — Samuel left their minds the moment he left their sight. "I'd always envied them," he said, sounding almost wistful.

"For what?" Eli said. He followed Samuel's gaze. "What are they, other than skeletons of their fathers' ambitions? They have nothing. They _are_ nothing."

Samuel looked back to Eli with dark eyes. "How do you know I'm anything more?"

"Because for people like us to live, we have to be."

"Mm," Samuel hummed. He considered the thought for a time, before ultimately returning to his reading. 

Eli put his knife away and took a seat next to Samuel on the bench, who seemed momentarily perturbed by Eli's propensity for consuming excessive quantities of space while sitting, but was apparently content to simply reduce himself to as small a size as possible.

"How come you aren't at lunch?" Eli asked, despite the fact that he, too, was not at lunch. 

"I don't eat during lunch," Samuel answered.

"Why not?"

Samuel shrugged. "Just don't." He had an admirable dedication to pretending that he was reading while speaking to people.

"That's weird," Eli said.

"Maybe."

"The food's free. You may as well take something."

"Don't want to."

"Well, whatever," Eli said, rolling his eyes. There was no point in wasting his time on this kid any longer. He stood up and left Samuel to himself. 

 

***

 

Eli was released from the day's classes at 3:45, and for lack of anything else to do, he returned to his room. Despite leaving directly from class, Eli discovered that Samuel was already back and settled in with some sort of onerous tome. Did this dweeb do _anything_ but read?

"I'll train you to fight now," Eli idly announced as he entered the room and discarded his things on his bed. Samuel only barely looked up; without interest in whether or not Samuel actually desired to partake in any of this, Eli took out his knife.

 _Ugh._ They were interrupted by the door opening again — Eli looked over his shoulder only to give their unwanted roommate a disdainful sneer.

Charles immediately balked upon crossing the threshold, but nevertheless attempted to maintain his irritating facade of affability in spite of Eli's nasty look and plainly visible weapon. "Um... good afternoon. Did you both have a fine first day of class?"

Eli didn't have time for this. "Why don't you go and have a walk, Chester?" he suggested. 

"I — my name is _Charles_..."

"I'm having a private meeting with Samuel, so you've got to go."

"Er — but I —"

"But what? You aren't welcome here. Begone."

Charles awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I _live_ here."

Eli dramatically rolled his eyes. "You can come back once we've finished, but you'll have to find somewhere else to be right now. Get going."

"Can I at least drop off my _things?_ "

"Fine, whatever. Hurry up."

Eli watched Charles with scathing hostility as the boy quickly crossed the room to put away his belongings. Thankfully, Charles was right back out the door as soon as he was unencumbered.

"Right, then. Get up," Eli demanded, coming to stand threateningly before Samuel's bed.

Samuel gave Eli a disbelieving look. "You're serious."

Eli brandished the knife. "Of _course_ I'm serious. Come on!"

Reluctantly, Samuel put aside his book and rose from his bed. Eli flipped the knife around and offered the hilt to Samuel; Samuel's hand closed around it with a hesitant grip.

"Okay. Now I want you to come at me with the knife," Eli said, moving to the clear floorspace.

Samuel stood with the knife in his hand, and looked expressionlessly from it to Eli. "And... try to stab you."

"Yeah. Hit me with your best shot."

"I figured... that there might be some technique involved," Samuel said.

"Huh? Not really. I mean, this is how I learned. Just kept going at it until the people I wanted dead started dying."

Samuel shifted his stance and his grip on the knife; Eli braced himself for attack as the other boy began to slowly circle him. "You've killed before," Samuel stated.

"Yeah," Eli said, raising his arms defensively. He kept step with Samuel's slow movements. "Have you?"

"No," Samuel answered.

"There's a first for everything."

"Should there be?"

"Sometimes there has to be," Eli said.

Samuel fell silent as he continued his circling. He was studying Eli with a careful eye — Eli hadn't expected that the kid would be able to put up much of a fight, but the anticipation was building his nerves. He raised his guard, and watched Samuel just as carefully as he was being watched.

After what felt like forever, Samuel lunged forward for a calculated strike. He had a good strategy — he feinted low and to the side but then went right for the heart. Eli wasn't caught completely unawares, but he didn't make the most graceful dodge, either — Samuel kept after him, pushing Eli back with persistent jabs until his back hit the wall and the only way to stop the blade from driving into his chest was to catch it in his hands and hold on tight.

A wild grin spread across Eli's face as the blood ran down his palms. "You really tried to kill me," he said, hands trembling around the blade — not from the pain, but from _excitement._

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Samuel quietly asked.

Eli wrenched the blade out of Samuel's grip and stepped clear to inspect his bloodied palms. The cuts weren't as deep as they felt; they'd heal up in a few days, probably. He didn't even care. "You're fucked up," Eli said, verging on manic. "Just like me."

Samuel said nothing. 

"We'll do it tomorrow, then," Eli decided. "We'll make them pay for their words with blood."

 

***

 

Eli was almost surprised when Samuel actually turned up where they planned to meet at lunch. 

"Are you ready?" Eli asked.

"Yes," Samuel answered.

Samuel returned to just the spot he was in the other day, and Eli hung back nearby to wait. He figured that Stephen would be back around again to see if he could stir up trouble, and was not disappointed.

Just as he'd expected, Stephen couldn't resist taking the bait. Eli watched with a giddiness in his stomach as Stephen approached Samuel on the bench; he even had only two other kids with him this time. That made things even easier.

"You just don't learn, do you?" Stephen laughed as he and his toadies rounded on Samuel. "I thought I'd made it clear you ought to make yourself scarce at _my_ school."

The moment he saw Stephen reach to rip Samuel's book from his hands, Eli forgot the plan. He abandoned his hiding spot and made a beeline for the group around the bench, and as soon as Stephen turned at his arrival, he took a swing and cracked bone.

The boys scattered as Stephen stumbled back, clutching his broken and bloodied nose in shock. Eli flexed his bruised hand and grinned like a madman. The punch had ripped open the cuts from the day before, too. He relished the pulsing spread of the pain.

"Jesus Christ!" Stephen cursed. "You little — I'll —"

Eli burst out into laughter as Stephen attempted a pitiful lunge. He effortlessly evaded the punch and struck back with a merciless hit to the jaw. Stephen crumpled to the ground in a howl of pain; none of his friends even _tried_ to help him. They were already long gone, but there was a small and gathering crowd.

Eli's body flooded with adrenaline. This is what he _lived_ for. 

Stephen writhed on his back, his fingers slipping through the blood and tears on his battered face. Eli's eyes were glued to the pale arch of Stephen's exposed throat; it was as if he could see the blood coursing beneath the boy's flesh. It made his mouth water. 

Something in Stephen's eyes changed when he caught the intensity of Eli's gaze, as if noticing for the first time that he was truly in danger. Fear flooded his face in a violent current and Eli fed off the palpable terror like wine. His body felt like it was vibrating with energy, though his hand was perfectly still as it reached for the knife hidden under his clothes.

It had been so long since he'd last killed. The warmth of blood on his hands again would feel good. 

Eli only came to when he heard Samuel's clear voice cut through the haze, calling his name — _Snake._ His head whipped around and he pulled his hand away from the knife. 

A stuffy-looking schoolmaster was rapidly approaching, bearing down on them in the yard. All the other children had scattered, until all who remained were Eli, Stephen and a very white-faced Samuel — who, despite his plain fear, had refused to abandon Eli.

"What in the _heavens_ is going on here!?" the old man demanded, his face twisted into a caricature of fury. Eli recognized him now — he was the history teacher.

The three of them spoke at once.

"Those freaks _attacked_ m—"

"He had it _coming_ —"

"Dr. Thomas —"

"He's a _monster,_ I tell you —"

"A sight better than _you,_ I'd say —"

"Please —"

" _One at a time!_ " the teacher shouted, so loud even Eli was startled into silence.

Perhaps surprisingly, Samuel was the first one to find the courage to speak up. "Dr. Thomas, Stephen and his friends were teasing me again. They tried to take my book. He was just trying to run them off, sir."

It was a bit of a tall sell, given how Stephen was sprawled out and very evidently spattered with a volume of blood far beyond any reasonable boundary of a _running off._ Eli was clearly trying to run him into the _ground._

Samuel spared the boy on the ground a glance before he continued. "But Stephen _threatened me_ —"

" _Bullshit!_ That's a _lie!_ " Stephen spat, blood spraying out of his broken nose. "He's _lying_ —"

Eli watched in awe as _actual tears_ welled up in Samuel's eyes. This kid was a riot. "He was just trying to defend me —"

Stephen scrambled to his feet, and Eli begrudgingly let him. "He's lying, sir," the boy sputtered. He was wiping the blood from his face, but it never seemed to stop flowing. "I didn't do nothing, I swear. I mean, we were having a bit of fun, but I never — it was all that _freak_ —" He brandished a shaking finger at Eli. "He punched me in the _face!_ "

"I've heard more than enough, Sheffield," the so-called Dr. Thomas growled. "Clark, get back to class. Sheffield, and you — what the hell was your name?"

Eli crossed his arms in sour defiance. Samuel lingered behind him like a nervous shadow. "My name is Snake," he said.

"Your _real_ name, son."

"His name is _Eli Doe,_ and he's a _basketcase,_ " Stephen whinged from around his bloody fingers. "If trying to _kill_ me in the schoolyard weren't enough, he thinks anybody's going to call him _Snake._ "

"They will, once everyone's had a good look at what's become of _your_ ugly mug."

"Doe?" the old man repeated, crinkling his nose like he'd smelled something rotten. "Oh, I hadn't even — of _course_ you're Adam's boy."

"What?" Eli replied, confused.

Stephen pulled his hand away. There was a tooth in it. "Oh my god," he muttered.

"What on earth is it now, Sheffield?" Dr. Thomas demanded.

"My tooth just came out," the boy whined. "Dr. Thomas, Eli knocked my tooth out! You can't let him get away with this! My father will have this school razed!"

Thomas grunted like a constipated frog. "Get to the infirmary, Sheffield. We'll have words later." He pointed to Samuel. "And you, class, now. I mean it. Doe, you'll come with me to counseling." 

At last, the two boys listened to Thomas's demands and quickly fled in opposite directions. Eli begrudgingly complied and followed along.

Eli kept a comfortable distance from the aged teacher, and noticed some peculiar things as he analyzed his gait. The old man had just a bit of a limp in his stride, a stiff shoulder, and, when Eli approached closer, a strange bulging quality to his right eye.

"You've got a fake leg," Eli observed, falling in step to talk.

Thomas gave a snort and spared Eli only a glance. "I do," he confirmed.

"And a glass eye," Eli added. "It's hard to tell, 'cause your eyebrows are so bushy and droopy, but —"

"Have you a point in pointing out all my deformities, boy?" Thomas interjected, his cutting tone indicating very clearly that Eli probably ought to stop trying his patience.

Eli paid absolutely no mind to the warning. "You were in the military," he said.

"Ha," Thomas snorted. "You're right."

"You're old, so World War II."

Thomas seemed to at least be pleased by Eli's interest in his service. "Rude, but right again. Do you know which branch?"

"Army," Eli guessed. It seemed to suit him.

"Right. What part?"

The specifics were harder to suss out. "Um... well, you were in combat."

"Mhmm."

Eli just had to guess. "Infantry?"

"At first."

"Then you went into special forces," Eli concluded.

"Right," the old man said. They'd reached the main office building of the campus by then, and he lead Eli inside and down the corridors.

"So... SAS."

Thomas laughed. "Will you guess all my operations next?"

"I don't know them all," Eli said. "I guess you were in a few."

"Quite so," Thomas agreed.

"And you're a _doctor._ What are you doing teaching at a _boys' boarding school?_ "

"That's the question for the ages, isn't it?"

They made it down to the counseling center, and Thomas brought Eli over to an office with a name stenciled onto the door that proved very suspicious indeed: _Adam Doe_.

"Here we are," the old man announced, and knocked on the door.

A voice came from the other side that sounded unnervingly familiar to Eli, and his horrors were confirmed when Thomas turned the doorknob and revealed the man inside.

"Ocelot!?" Eli sputtered. "You —"

"I trust my son hasn't been giving you any trouble, Sidney," Ocelot said as he rose from behind the desk, in a tone that very clearly communicated that he expected just the opposite.

Dr. Thomas shook his head. "It's his first week and he's starting fights in the yard, I'm afraid."

Eli was distracted from his fury at Ocelot by Thomas's egregious lies. "That's not true. That little rat was bullying Samuel, and I had to set him straight."

"Conflicts are best solved without fists, son," Thomas opined.

"Like _fuck_ they are —"

" _Eli,_ " Ocelot snapped. "Watch your language."

Eli was flabbergasted. When had Ocelot ever cared what the fuck he said?

"He's a smart boy, I'll give you that," Thomas admitted, shaking his head. "But his behavior leaves a lot to be desired. Adam, I trust you can discipline your boy. I've work to get back to."

 _Adam?_ Eli looked between Thomas and Ocelot incredulously. Who the fuck was _Adam?_

"Of course. I'm sorry he's been a nuisance. I'll put a stop to this," Ocelot said.

Eli waited just long enough for Thomas to leave the room before he erupted. " _What the fuck is this?_ "

"I see EVA never told you," Ocelot sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Nice to meet you, Eli. I'm Adam, your father."

Eli practically choked on his own tongue. " _What!?_ "

"I also work here as a counselor, three days a week. As I'm sure you can guess, I've been tasked with keeping an eye on you during your stay here at St. Francis."

"My — my _father_ —"

"Stepfather, technically," Ocelot said. "I trust you'll be able to keep up the charade. Your contempt for me will, I'm sure, seem perfectly appropriate to our relationship."

"You — I —"

"You're going to have to get used to me being here. Someone needs to supervise you, and that person is me — and let's disavow the notion that there's anything you can do to hide from me. I know everything you do, and if you act out, or try to run away, or do anything to compromise this operation — believe that I'll deal with it appropriately."

Eli was beyond furious. This wasn't fair. "Why did it have to be _you!?_ " he seethed. "Why can't _you_ go and lick my father's boots instead of my mother?"

Ocelot produced a tight smile. "EVA wanted to stay close to Big Boss."

"But, she said —"

"We discussed it, and we both agreed that I would be better suited to watching you here than she would," Ocelot said. "EVA's abilities are more useful for fieldwork than babysitting."

It made Eli _upset._ That she had the _option_ to stay, and decided not to, made her leaving that much worse — he was furious with himself for letting himself get so attached so quickly. Of course she'd never cared about him that much. She didn't even _know_ him. "But —"

Ocelot sighed, and returned to his seat behind his desk. He gestured for Eli to do the same in one of the chairs set up across from him. "Now, I suppose I have to discipline you."

Eli scowled. He reluctantly sat down and folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to take away my _toys,_ father?"

Ocelot fixed him with a warning eye. "First of all, button up your shirt," he commanded. 

Eli stared back defiantly at first, but when Ocelot made it clear he had no intention of letting him go until he'd done it, he rolled his eyes and buttoned it to the neck. "There. Are you fucking happy?"

"No," Ocelot answered, deadpan. "I'm very disappointed in your behavior, and I won't tolerate it going forward. I want you to come to see me at least twice a week after class, for counseling. I mean it."

Eli choked. That was _surely_ a disproportionate punishment. "But I didn't —"

"I don't _care_ what you did," Ocelot quickly interjected. "The only thing that matters to me is that you aren't drawing _attention_ to yourself. Stop getting into fights, whether you're starting them _or_ finishing them."

"I can't let —"

"Join a sports team if you want to blow off steam. Rugby tryouts are next week, go show up."

Eli shook his head. Men like Ocelot, who were not born for the battlefield, just couldn't understand. "Kicking a ball won't satisfy my thirst for _justice_."

" _Good lord,_ " Ocelot said. His eyes rolled into his skull as he raised a hand to his forehead. "Picking fights in the schoolyard is not _justice._ "

"But they were bullying my —"

"Who cares? It's not your problem, Eli."

Eli puffed up his chest. "My men are _absolutely_ my problem."

"Your _men?_ " Ocelot repeated, bursting out into an incredulous laugh. "Eli, your fifteen year old roommate is not one of your _men_. You don't have any ' _men_ '. "

The anger came surging back. Eli couldn't _stand_ Ocelot — he was always the worst of them all, the most contemptible, condescending, useless piece of shit of a bastard Eli could imagine. "Stop treating me like I'm a little kid!" he demanded. 

"If you don't want me to treat you like a little kid, stop _acting_ like one," Ocelot said, with an insufferable smirk that finally caused Eli to snap.

In a blindingly fast lunge, Eli was out of his seat and had his blade drawn. He launched himself directly over Ocelot's desk to drive his knife straight into Ocelot's neck. Mercy was the furthest thing from Eli's considerations.

As fast as Eli was, Ocelot was faster — but Eli could tell that Ocelot was _surprised_ by how much effort it took to repel him. What Ocelot expected to be an effortless dismissal turned into a scuffle far more physical than any of the confrontations they'd had on Mother Base, when Eli had been far younger and weaker than he was now. Ocelot swiftly knocked the knife from Eli's hand, but Eli managed to dodge his grab, hop off the desk and go in for a punch.

Eli's fist managed to connect with Ocelot's stomach, but if it slowed him down at all, he didn't show it. The moment Ocelot stopped holding back, it was over — Ocelot had a hand around Eli's neck and his back flat against the against desk, and Eli kicked and clawed at his fingers but he wasn't strong enough to pry loose the hand clenching down tight on his — 

Ocelot suddenly released him, recoiling as if he'd been burned. Eli didn't think he'd ever seen Ocelot _startled_ before. He followed the man's widened eyes downward until... oh. _Oh._

Eli's face flooded scarlet, and he immediately began to protest. "I'm not gay!"

Ocelot took a further step back. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it occurred to Eli that maybe shouting _I'm not gay_ was not the best defense to make while obviously sporting an erection.

Eli hopped off the desk. All he wanted to do was escape, but Ocelot had moved square between him and the door. He took the next best option, which was moving around to the other side of the desk so at least his crotch was obscured.

Ocelot took a deep breath, assumed a guarded posture and asked, "What was that, Eli?" 

_Fuck if I know,_ Eli thought. "Absolutely nothing," he said.

"Are you attracted to me?" Ocelot asked.

Oh god, he was _serious._ This wasn't _happening._ "Oh my g—"

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

" _What!?_ " Eli answered, his voice cracking. Jumping out of the fucking window was suddenly looking like a serious option now. "Are you out of your bloody fucking _mind?_ "

"It's important that you be honest with me, Eli."

Eli's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "You — you're _ancient._ You're _disgusting_ — a fucking old man — what are you, seventy years old? You could be my _grandfather_ —"

"You didn't answer the question."

It was a struggle for Eli to not choke on his own tongue. "You — I —"

"I won't be mad with you if you have feelings for me, Eli," Ocelot said. Somehow, his attempts at being calm and comforting were having the exact opposite effect.

"Enough! Enough!" Eli shouted. "Look, maybe I get off on having a tussle — it had nothing to do with _you,_ all right?"

Ocelot stared Eli down critically. "I just need you to understand that something like that simply isn't possible," he said.

" _Something like th_ — I don't want anything from you!"

"You're too young, and it would be —"

"Fuck you!"

"— _inappropriate_ —"

"Inappropriate!?"

"Inappropriate."

" _Inappropriate!_ "

"Yes. Inappropriate."

"Because I'm _too young,_ " Eli said.

"Yes," Ocelot replied.

Eli could feel Ocelot's pale eyes burning a hole right through him.

It'd been in the back of his mind for a while. It would've been hard not to have thought about it. Even when he was much younger, he'd noticed that Ocelot held some sort of infatuation for his father. And since Eli was a clone, well —

Ocelot didn't say that he was unattractive, or off-putting, or a waste of time. He said only that Eli was _too young_. 

Eli honestly had no idea how he felt about that. Maybe he was thinking too far into it.

He did know that there was a peculiar heat in his chest that was making him more than a little unsettled. He tamped it down, and spat, petulantly, "Good. Thinking about touching you is disgusting, and your mustache makes me sick."

"My mustache?"

"God, have you looked in the mirror? You even _look_ like a paedophile."

Ocelot lifted a hand to his face. "There's nothing wrong with my mustache."

Eli snorted loudly. " _Everything_ is wrong with your mustache," he said. The impotence of his comeback left him embarrassed. "I'm — I'm _leaving_."

"Your next appointment is after class, on Monday next week," Ocelot reminded him.

Eli tried to retain even a shred of his dignity as he made the tortuously infinite 5 second walk of shame from behind the desk to the door.


	6. Into the Groove

**3 June, 1984. Mother Base.**

"Rumor has it that you're a _queer._ "

Ocelot slowly looked up from the gun in his hands. He had been sitting on a chair out on the deck of the combat strut, enjoying the late afternoon sun and cool ocean breeze as he cleaned his piece, and now he had this little brat casting an inescapable pall over his day. "Excuse me?" Ocelot asked, making clear in his tone that it was not so much a request for clarification as it was for Eli to leave.

It really was a pleasant day, for all this incorrigible child endeavored to ruin it. The warm light from the sun on Eli's back illuminated the kid like a halo, angelic as Lucifer. "You heard me," he said, crossing his arms defiantly. At least he was without his entourage.

Ocelot peered into Eli's face for a time, squinting from the glare of the sun, before he ultimately decided to return to his work. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

Eli was, unsurprisingly, not dissuaded. "That's what they say," he insisted. "They say you love to take cocks up your —"

"And who, exactly, are _'they'_?" Ocelot sighed, once again abandoning his attempts to clean his gun.

"The men on the base. They all say it, when your back's turned. They say you're _gagging_ for my father to —"

"That's enough, Eli." 

There was a smarmy grin stretching its way across the kid's face. "But he won't do it, will he? He doesn't like you like that, and it pisses you off, doesn't it?"

Ocelot shook his head, and picked up his gun again. Eli was clearly agitated by his apathetic response. The kid stewed for a moment before he came up with his best attempt at ratcheting up the confrontation. "It's fucking sick, you know," he said. "Real men can get girls to do that."

Ocelot knew better than to even humor the child's attempts at bothering him, but as Eli proved himself so unfathomably relentless, it grew increasingly difficult to not retaliate.

Ocelot had never claimed he was a good man.

" _Well_ — you'll be excited to learn that you're a _queer,_ too," Ocelot declared, smiling.

Eli immediately recoiled when the shot struck home. "What!?" he spat. "I am _not!_ "

"Are too," Ocelot said. "After all, the Boss is. Why wouldn't you be?"

A look of horror began to blossom on the kid's face. "My father isn't a queer," Eli protested. He sounded on the verge of panic. "He might be shit and a right old bastard, but he's not that."

Ocelot laughed; that kind of casual dismissal only made Eli more uncomfortable. "Of course he is. You _must_ have noticed."

"But he doesn't like _you._ "

"Is it really so unthinkable that someone attracted to men might not want to be with _me?_ "

The words felt strange once they'd left his mouth.

The kid looked like he was on the verge of turning tail and running, but his stubborn pride kept him from fleeing outright. The way his mouth repeatedly opened and closed made him resemble a fish.

Ocelot could've just left the kid like that, but he felt compelled to keep twisting the knife. "The Boss and Miller are always standing a little too close," he continued. "Anyone can see it."

"That's not — that doesn't mean —"

"Of course, they've been lovers since their days in _Militaires Sans Frontières,_ " Ocelot said. "I mean… it's hardly a secret."

Eli sputtered. "That doesn't mean _I'm_ like that."

Ocelot looked back down to his gun, and his face reflected in it. "Doesn't it, though?" he said. "You say you're cut from the same cloth, after all."

"I'm _not_ gay," the kid practically shouted. "I've fucked girls!"

Oh, this was getting good. Ocelot raised an eyebrow. "Really, now."

"Yeah," Eli asserted, nodding his head. "We had a bitch tied up. You know, the one you brought back — you bet I fucked her."

"All right," Ocelot said. He looked up expectantly. "What was it like?"

"I —" Eli faltered. "What?"

"What was it like?" Ocelot repeated. He leaned back into his chair with a smile. "You'll have to tell me. Being a ' _fucking queer_ ', I wouldn't know."

It took Eli a solid moment to think about his answer. "It was — it was — gooey —"

"Gooey," Ocelot echoed, deadpan. 

"Yeah, the vagina. The vagina was gooey when I put it in —"

"Eli, you are eleven years old. You did not have sex with an adult woman."

Eli's face contorted with rage. He looked moments from going off on a tantrum. "Did too!"

"I think I would've heard it from Smoking Spider if she'd been raped by a troupe of small boys. That's kind of a wild story."

The kid snorted and balled his hands into fists. He was running out of retorts; he'd turn to physical violence soon, Ocelot could tell. It was time to finish this.

"At any rate," Ocelot said, standing. "I know my men, and I'd sure as hell know if any of them had been disrespecting me. If you wanted to talk about your feelings for men with someone who'd understand, you could have just asked."

When the kid's face turned just as red as he'd expected, Ocelot holstered his gun and turned to leave.

 

***

 

**11 September, 1987. St. Francis.**

Eli didn't get into any trouble at all.

It turned out that Stephen Sheffield was a bit of a known menace, so really, none of the faculty was _that_ torn up to see him get a tooth knocked out. He made a bunch of noise about involving his parents, but Eli got the sense that they were as sick of Stephen's shit as the rest of the world — Dr. Thomas let him off easy, and nobody sought to ensure he was punished.

In fact, the fight only proved to be a _blessing._ Word rapidly spread about what Eli did, and nobody giggled at _Snake_ in class anymore. Some kids even wanted to _talk_ to him — but none of them were worth his time.

By all accounts, Eli should have been feeling triumphant. As far as he was concerned, he basically owned the school now — but, of course, Ocelot had to go and fucking ruin it.

Eli was jumping at shadows. He felt like everyone who looked at him could _see_ it; it made him anxious and paranoid and aimlessly furious. Maybe the best way to get it out of his system was just to kill Ocelot, but Eli hadn't seem him around on campus since the last they'd met.

It was hard to prove a negative in a defense to an accusation no one was making, but Eli felt obligated to try anyway. Maybe rugby wasn't such a bad idea. Playing sports was pretty manly, right? No one would think he was gay if he were really good at handling a ball and falling down under piles of men.

It was well after lights out, and Eli was lain out on his bed, but he wasn't tired — neither was Samuel, who regularly stayed up past 2 AM to read. God knows how the kid's eyes weren't completely shot.

"You know, I don't think I've seen Chad around in a while," Eli commented. 

"Charles asked to be assigned to a different room after the fight."

Eli laughed out loud. He was glad to be free of that annoying ponce's presence. "Good. He was a coward and a parasite on this world." 

"Mm."

Eli looked over to Samuel with a grin. "I can't believe you made yourself _cry,_ " he said, reflecting gleefully on the fight. "Sheffield got _all_ the blame."

"I didn't make myself cry," Samuel replied. He added, in a quiet voice, "I'm not a very good liar."

"Well — _whatever_ you did, it worked," Eli said. "Hey, want to go out for rugby?"

Samuel seemed mildly taken aback by the completely unrelated question. "No."

"Why? Are you a _queer?_ "

"No," Samuel answered. He didn't sound insulted or surprised by the line of inquiry, which made Eli feel even more insecure.

"Well, I'm not either," Eli angrily snapped.

Samuel maintained a tone of complete disinterest. "Okay."

They fell back into an awkward silence. Tasked with picking back up the conversation, Eli said, "... So why don't you, then?"

"Well... I don't like to draw attention to myself," Samuel explained. He kept his own voice down at night, despite Eli's complete lack of regard for the neighboring dorm rooms. "Also, I weigh 7 stone."

"You're scrappy, it'll be fine. If anybody messes with you, I'll show them what for," Eli said. "I'm sure Sheffield has been more than enough of an example."

"There may be problems if you keep breaking noses," Samuel said.

"Right. I'm like to get kicked out eventually if I start up all the fights I want, right? Maybe cracking a few heads on the field will let some energy out."

"I... don't think assaulting people is the point of sports," Samuel said.

"Like hell it isn't. Have you ever _been_ to a football match?"

"No." Samuel turned a page of his book. He was going through a paperback now; he seemed to have a different one every time Eli saw him. "Not really interested in sports."

"Playing it is different."

"Nah."

Eli was growing irritated. He sat up in bed. "All right, let's put it a different way," he said. "You're _going_ to try out for rugby with me."

Samuel seemed unfazed by Eli's forceful tone. He looked carefully to Eli and said, "Am I?"

"Yeah," Eli said. "Tryouts are this weekend. You'll be coming with me, so don't argue."

"What if I'm not picked?"

"Then I'll know you're weak, and not worth my time," Eli said with finality. He reached over and turned off the light.

 

***

 

On the day of rugby tryouts, Eli rose at the asscrack of fucking dawn. It seemed that Wolf Hall's upperclassman team got the pitch in the earliest timeslot possible, and now Eli had to suffer for it.

Samuel was already gone by the time Eli woke up. He wasn't particularly surprised — he figured there was a good chance the kid would pussy out. He hadn't expected that Samuel would be so cowardly as to _flee the room_ to escape the confrontation, though.

Eli didn't bother showering or anything. He didn't see the point, when he was about to go get sweaty and muddy anyway. He just dug through his disorganized pile of belongings to locate his unworn gym clothes, and put himself into them. The uniform was, thankfully, not particularly offensive to look at — it was just a light shirt and some shorts in the grey and blue Wolf colors. It was a good deal less uncomfortable and embarrassing than his regular uniform.

The air was wet and full of mist when he made his way down to the yard. The pitch was a bit of a walk away on the far side of campus, but it was easy enough to find his way when he followed the trickle of boys in gym kits heading across the green.

The playing fields were situated in a great clearing in the woods, and seemed to run more than the entire length of the campus. It was truly a tremendous stretch of land; Eli could make out a baseball field, a football field and a tennis court, among others, and he hadn't even the faintest idea what else was inside the gym towards the far end. 

Eli spotted the rugby field for its H goals and the growing crowd of blue and grey clad boys gathered around the foot of the mostly empty stands. When he approached the group, what he was most surprised to discover was that Samuel hadn't fled at all — he was already there.

The team captain — he seemed to be in upper sixth, from the look of him — was already engaged in giving a lecture when Eli arrived. He stopped, immediately adopted an irritated expression, and turned on Eli. "You. You're here for rugby?"

Eli came to stand beside Samuel, who gave him a measured look. "Yeah," he answered, unaffected.

"You're fifteen minutes late, kid," the captain said, referencing his watch; the piece looked surprisingly shoddy and cheap for a private school brat. He had his other arm around a ball. "We started at eight."

"That's your own fault for setting this so fucking early. I'm here now."

The response of the crowd was markedly delineated by age. The sixth form kids seemed to be amused by his hubris; the fifth years produced a mixture of unsure laughter and nervous glances; the other fourth years kept _dead silent,_ as if the lot of them were holding their breath.

The captain stepped through the crowd to approach him. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, getting right up in Eli's face.

Eli sized the team captain up. He was kind of a stocky guy — despite the fact the captain had to be two or three years older, Eli had a good 5 centimeters on him. Hairy, too, with a bit of a unibrow and a strong nose. He had long lashes and pretty dark eyes, though, and it was hard not to stare at them.

_Shit, that's kind of gay._

When Eli didn't answer, a forced smirk curled onto the captain's face. "I _said_ — what's your _name?_ " 

Startled from his bristling introspection, Eli finally replied, in a threatening snarl, "Call me _Snake._ "

The captain immediately released a bark of laughter. Droplets of spit sprayed Eli's face. "You like to take the piss, huh?" He roughly shoved the ball into Eli's chest. "I'm looking forward to seeing how you play, _Snake._ "

Eli snorted, but he wasn't about to back down from a challenge.

The captain turned and walked back down the path he cut through the crowd of boys. When he returned to his position at the head of the group, he raised his voice to shout out, "Right! Listen up." Everyone immediately stood at attention. "All right. There are, what..." He took a moment to do a headcount. "Right, 32 of us here now. Lot of you from fourth form? Huh, good showing — but, obviously, that means not all of you are going to make the cut at all, let _alone_ make it to first string. Don't assume that because you were on the team last year that you're making it _this_ year. You'd better play your fucking _arses_ off."

A surge of energy seemed to spread through the crowd as the captain gave a clap of his hands. "Okay, let's start off with a little warm up and weed out the daddy's boys. Hey, Snake, think you can handle running across a field?"

Well, this guy certainly seemed set on singling Eli out. "Faster than you, I'd bet," he answered.

The captain's laughter almost seemed genuine. He tossed his ball to the ground next to the bag of them lying nearby in the grass, and discarded his crappy watch just as carelessly. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

He called the group of them along with him and lead them down to the goal. When they regrouped around the post, he turned and pointed down the pitch. "Right, right. Simple. Run to the far goal and back, then do it again. Make good time, but don't kill yourselves. If you're tired when you're done, go home. Got it?"

The boys in the crowd nodded in agreement, and without needing to be told, lined up for the sprint. Eli lazily followed suit.

"Try to keep up," said the captain, falling in beside Eli to take his place. He gave Eli a hard slap on the back of his shoulder that hurt much more than he anticipated, and then wasted no time in taking off.

Eli was left caught off guard, and already at a disadvantage. Flustered, he burst into a desperate sprint to catch up.

Despite his height and build, the captain was a fast runner, too. He always seemed to be able to keep one step ahead, no matter how hard Eli pushed himself to keep pace — and the way he kept throwing back smug laughing looks didn't help.

"Don't try to race with those idiots!" shouted a voice from behind.

The captain made it to the goalpost first, but Eli gained ground in the turn. He kept his lead for barely a matter of seconds before the captain edged up ahead of him again. The second lap looked much the same, but the home stretch pushed Eli to desperation.

Eli _refused_ to be beaten. He was _not_ going to lose — he wouldn't survive the defamation. So he pushed himself beyond the edge of his limits and he ran faster and faster and faster until he regained the lead in the final push.

He was going to fucking _do it._ The goalpost was only meters away, and he was gaining distance, and he was just about to —

Eli felt himself being grabbed around the waist and pulled to the ground and he hadn't even fully registered what had just happened before the captain was already back on his feet and racing to the goal. 

"What the fuck!?" Eli yelled, scrambling to pick himself up. The captain was already stopped with his hand on the goalpost, chest heaving, a shit eating smirk plastered across his cheating fucking face. Eli had half a mind to smack it off.

"Better luck next time, kid," the captain panted, collecting himself to stand up straight.

The two of them were so far ahead of the rest of the group that the other kids were barely making it to the start of the last lap when Eli glanced back. No one would hear him protest. "That wasn't fucking fair! I was winning!"

"Should've thought of it first," the captain giddily laughed, dancing out of range when Eli furiously advanced.

The first kid to make it to the goal and interrupt their confrontation was, surprisingly, Samuel. He didn't look nearly so out of breath as the two of them, though he'd considerably outpaced the rest of the kids. "Are... are you okay?" he asked, after getting a look at Eli's dirt-smeared front.

Eli snorted angrily, giving up on pummelling that fucking brat. "Just _fine._ "

The rest of the group began to catch up not long after. Leading up the front was another sixth form boy, who began to give the captain shit. "Shit, Harding, you look fucking beat. You packing it up to go home to mummy?"

The captain — Harding — immediately reached out to hook his arm around the other kid's shoulders in a rough mockery of affection. "Shut the fuck up, Barker," he said, then bodily shoved him into the grass.

Harding left Barker laughing in the dirt as he rounded on the rest of the boys and began to scan the crowd for the weak links. "All right, who wants to tap out? No shame — being alive takes a lot out of you."

A fair number of the younger kids looked a little winded, but all the same, nobody volunteered to take the pass. Harding grinned. "That's what I like to see. Let's see how you do with some drills."

Harding brought the group over to his big bag of balls and kicked them out onto the grass. "God willing you already know how to pass a ball, but if you don't, you're going to figure out. We'll go over the basics."

Eli reluctantly drifted over to Samuel in case he was going to be expected to pick a partner. Harding set off explaining the rules in blistering rapidfire. "Okay. In case anybody's forgotten — we're here for rugby. Point of the game is to score points. You do this by getting a _try,_ which is when you put the ball on the ground in the other team's in-goal area. That's four points. After a try, you also get a conversion kick. If you can kick the ball through the goalposts, that's an extra two points. You can _also_ get three points from getting it through the posts in a penalty kick or a drop goal. I'll show you how to not fuck up drop goals later. 

"When you're trying to run for a try, you can only pass the ball sideways or backwards. Try to pass the ball forward and we lose it, so don't do that. Somebody tackles you, you've got to let go of the ball. Then everybody's gonna dogpile you and try to get their team control of the ball, that's the ruck. A maul's like that too, but standing up. 

"If somebody fucks up, there are a couple of ways to restart play. The balls goes out of bounds, there's gonna be a line out — everybody lines up and the ball's thrown in, somebody's gotta get it. Do a knock on or forward pass, the other team gets a scrum — the scrum is a whole thing, we'll work on that. 

"Lots more rules to go over, but we'll get to those as we go along. Anybody _completely_ lost?" 

Eli was unsure about a number of things, but he wasn't about to embarrass himself by saying anything. He simply stood awkwardly beside Samuel and waited for direction.

"All right, split up, lines of five, line up across from each other — find somebody old if you don't know what to do."

Harding resolved to put the lot of them through the ringer. He ran them through a rapid succession of various drills — passes, tackles, some kicking, showed them how to scrum ( _that_ definitely went too fast for Eli to grasp) — before he called them back together to regroup.

"All right, let's split you all up front and back. If you've been on the team before, go get where you'd be. The rest of you, I'll get you sorted out to start off." As the group began to filter itself, Harding focused in on Eli. "You, Snake. What position do you usually play?"

Eli shrugged.

Harding laughed. "What, you a switch?"

"Maybe," Eli answered. Then, he reluctantly admitted, "I've never played before."

"What, seriously?" Harding sounded honestly surprised. "Not even once?"

Maybe his inexperience was a little embarrassing. Eli wasn't sure what else to do but shrug again. "Had better things to do than throw around a ball, 'til I came here to this dump."

Harding seemed particularly amused by that. "Ha! What's better than this?"

"Well, I was a child soldier," Eli answered.

Harding completely laughed it off. "You think you're real fucking funny. I like you, kid. Hope you don't choke in the skrim."

Eli felt a strange heat in his chest from the approval, and found himself with not much to say back — which was just as well, because Harding had moved on to sorting the rest of the kids. "Beanpole, you go to the back. You, you're a bit thick, let's try you up front. Rat face, what's your name? Give me something better to call you than rat face — okay, _Daniels,_ that's better — but honestly, you look like a rat — right, anyway, I want you on back. Asian kid, you too." He made his way back around to Eli last. "Hm. You're definitely gonna be a bastard of a fly-half, but let's start you on wing first until you've got a good grasp of the rules. Go to the back."

By the time he was done, Harding had the group split up pretty evenly — from the looks of it, there were a few more kids on the back than front, but not significantly so. Harding walked up and down the line, sizing them all up. "Hmm. All right, let's break you into two teams. Barker, there's no chance you aren't making the cut, so why don't you and I sit it out for an even 30?"

"Your wish is my command, Princess," Barker said, affecting a ridiculous bow as he stepped away from the group of players.

"Hope you can still play after I punch out your teeth tonight," Harding sweetly said, patting Barker on the shoulder. "Okay, I want the vets to split up and help me get the rookies sorted into spots that'll work."

It took a bit of a commotion for the teams to be properly partitioned, and Harding had to move a few kids he'd wanted on back to front to keep things even, but he and Barker eventually got their respective teams set up on the field. 

They got off to kind of a rocky start. It was obvious some of the other fourth years didn't really know what they were doing either, and Harding kept having to stop play to correct them — but they eventually managed to get things to look like they were rolling pretty smoothly.

Eli ended up sort of hovering around the edge of play. Perhaps unsurprisingly, nobody seemed particularly interested in putting the ball into his range. There was a lot of tackling going on, and mobility of the ball was low. Eli wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to _do_ out on the wing, or whether it was appropriate for him to be aggressive in getting the ball for himself.

So he did a lot of watching, and trying to puzzle out what the fuck was going through the heads of the kids who actually knew how to play this game. Gradually, though, the kids on the inside started getting a little smarter and faster and suddenly his team had possession and they were passing it back to the outside and —

Eli was almost startled frozen when the ball made its way across the pitch and into his hands for the first time, but the sight of an entire hoard of aggressors was a sobering thing. He broke into a sprint and ran for what certainly felt like his life.

Eli hadn't been pursued as desperately by mercenaries in Africa as some of these kids were bolting after him, but there was nothing he was as good at as getting the fuck out of the way. He felt his heart in his throat as he evaded a procession of lunging boys, some probably twice his size, and he was just as suddenly nearing the try line.

The only problem came when a big guy veered in out of left field and threatened to impede his road to victory. He was forced to make a decision — pass off the ball, or make one final push and hope he'd be lucky enough to dodge the grab he knew was coming. Nobody else had managed to score yet, so if he were the first — he would _definitely_ —

But he didn't make it. The huge asshole got his arms around Eli's legs and he hit the ground, _meters_ from the goal, and he raised his arms to protect his head as the kids piled on and the opposition scrambled for the ball. 

Harding called a stop to the game, and took Eli aside once he was back up on his feet.

"You're fast, kid, and I can tell you've got a good knack for keeping out of reach — but you've also got a bad fuckin' attitude, and I get it, but you're not gonna win us shit if you hog the ball," Harding said. He at least kept his voice down, but it didn't make Eli feel any less targeted. 

"I _know_ how to pass," Eli protested. 

"Then _do_ it. There were three or four places back there where I would've passed, and in the end you choked for not taking any of them. You probably could've got your team a try there."

Eli huffed with barely disguised indignation. "Whatever," he said.

"No, not whatever," Harding laughed. "I'm your damn captain, and you do what I say. You got that?"

Eli stared Harding right in the eye. He never did well with being told what to do — but maybe this guy wasn't so bad. Harding at least seemed to know how to play the game, and Eli had to admit _he_ certainly didn't. "Got it," Eli begrudgingly said.

Harding's tough facade immediately fell away to a broad grin. "Good," he said. "Let's go again."

Harding moved some of the other boys around to different positions on the field, but Eli kept where he was, which was a relief. He didn't want to bother thinking about how the fuck a scrum was supposed to work. 

After a few more rounds on the pitch, Eli was starting to think he had at least gained a vague understanding of what was supposed to transpire in a game of rugby. He was still a bit mystified by the finer details of the rules, but he was beginning to grasp his role well enough — get the ball, run with the ball, fall down on or with the ball.

Eventually, Harding and Barker decided to call an end to the play and rounded up the kids for the final call. "All right," Harding said, staring down the anxious crowd. "I'm going to make my picks. Just move over there if I call your name, or, uh, insultingly describe you. I'll learn your names eventually, I promise. Or not."

Eli actually found himself a little nervous as he waited. He felt pretty confident that Harding liked him and was going to take him, but he couldn't be _sure._ He wasn't surprised when Harding called the other sixth form kids first — Barker, Johnson, Gilliam, Patel, Tanner, Housman, Cross and Page — but once he moved onto the fifth years, Eli started getting anxious. Daniels. Tennyson. Sumner. Beanpole. "Fred? Is your name Fred? God, you look like a Fred, that's your name now." 

He was down to the last spot, now. Eli held his breath.

"Hmm," Harding said, lingering on the decision. Eventually, he concluded, "Asian kid, you're on." 

Eli's heart skipped a beat. What the _fuck?_ Harding called _Samuel_ before him? Eli stared at Samuel in disbelief as the kid moved over to the other group, not looking like he particularly cared whether he was picked or not.

That was 15, including Harding. Harding had picked all of the starting players, which meant Eli wasn't fucking on the team. He clenched his jaw and his fists and struggled to contain his anger as Harding moved onto the reserve choices. 

"All right, I'll take seven more. Fisher, Abbey, you're back on — You, Pizzaface, eugh, sorry, I swear I can't help this — Cueball — come on, that one should've been obvious, look at your _head._ What, you don't think that one was good? None of these are good, go walk over there. Ginger. Oh, we met, I know you, you're Abrams — Abraham — what, _Payne?_ God, I wasn't even close. This is why I stick to the nicknames. And..." Harding paused again, before his smile gave away how deliberately he'd made Eli wait. "Snake."

Eli was at once both incredibly relieved and incredibly pissed off. Before he moved over to the other side, he stalked up to Harding to hiss, "What? You're putting me on second string?"

Harding laughed, as if Eli's indignation were completely ridiculous. Despite the fact Eli was trying to keep his own voice down, Harding answered at full volume. "Uh, yeah. You're fast, but you don't know what the fuck you're doing, kid. I'll move you up _if_ you get good," he said. He then reached out to pull Barker into an obviously unwanted one-armed hug which he had to wrestle to maintain. "Besides, I'm grooming you for my boy Barker's number and there's not a force in this world than can keep us apart."

Eli instantly decided that he hated Barker more than any other person he'd ever met in his life.

With the team sorted, Harding gave his consolations to the kids who didn't make the cut and called an end to the tryouts. He had a stack of papers set aside with the term calendar and all the dates and times of practice, "— because one of you fourth years always fucking forgets," and he passed them out to the crowd. "I'll get you all sorted on lockers in the gym by next meeting. Now go hit the showers, you all smell like shit."

Eli was far too burned by the second string pick to show his face in the showers, let alone his cock. So he headed off in the opposite direction back to his own room, fuming all the way.

He couldn't get over being picked after _Samuel. Samuel!_ Who weighed 7 stone, and had never played a game of rugby in his life. And Harding thought he was _better_ than Eli? Eli couldn't fucking believe it. 

He only noticed halfway back to the dorm, amidst an unending flurry of disjointed grumbling to himself, that Samuel had been following him. He only noticed this because Samuel suddenly asked, "Do you want me to drop off the team?"

Eli practically jumped out of his fucking skin. "Fuck!" he shouted, whipping around. "Don't just — fucking _sneak up_ on —"

"I've been walking with you this entire time..."

"Jesus. You're so fucking quiet, I hate it. Ugh," Eli said, and turned back to resume walking, now twice as angry. "And no. I don't fucking want you to drop off the team."

Samuel continued following after. "If I leave, maybe the captain will move you up to my spot."

"It's not as if the order of the first day picks is _set in stone,_ " Eli said, as if _Samuel_ were the one wasting time being upset over nothing. He angrily wrenched open the door to the residence hall. "Who Harding picks for the starting lineup when the season begins could be different."

"Okay," Samuel said, following up the stairs. "Then there isn't a problem."

"Yes, there _is_ a fucking problem! There's a problem, which is that I've been _disrespected_!"

"I think the captain is just trying to make a good team."

"I think the captain can suck my fucking cock, is what he can do," Eli spat, and went out of his way to slam the door to their room shut once Samuel stepped across the threshold.

"Well, okay," Samuel mildly agreed.

"Fuck him, and fuck this stupid sport. I'm using the shower first."

"That's fine." 

Eli locked himself in the washroom and didn't even try not to use all the hot water.


	7. Who's That Girl

St. Francis had a pretty rigorous sports schedule. Upperclassman rugby was the big thing during Michaelmas term, and each house's team played ten games in a season; with six houses and ten weeks of game time, the school hosted three big games a week, on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. The lowerclassman teams apparently also ran games on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, so there was evidently no end to the spectating opportunities — Eli was vaguely aware of there _also_ being tennis teams, and a fencing club, and badminton and indoor hockey and god knew what else. St. Francis seemed like a school that very badly wanted to be serious about sports, but had no money, and was far too isolated to consider anything but intramural competition. 

Eli was sort of perplexed by how the students managed to get so excited about a thing that happened so often; from what he heard around campus, many of them went down to watch every single rugby match. He verified this himself in the course of his obsessive efforts to analyze the tactics of the opposition. 

As far as Eli was concerned, Lion and Ram were competitive non-entities. Lion's team was weak and sluggish, with no notable players to speak of — Eli frequently heard Barker tell of the Lion captain's propensity for cronyism over skill, which struck Eli as particularly ironic given the undisguised favor Barker enjoyed from Harding. Ram, apparently, was having a bad year following a string of athletic victories; it'd managed to stockpile all of its talent in one year level and shut out the lowerclassmen, and once they'd all graduated the previous year, Ram was left with a skeleton crew of rusty upper sixths who hadn't played a single proper match since third form, and a bunch of fourth years with no clue what they were doing. 

Hawk and Bear were more formidable opponents. Hawk, following in Ram's ill fated footsteps, was also loaded with seventh years; its team was a lot bigger and stronger than some of the other houses. The Hawk captain was supposedly a real cutthroat who would go to any lengths to win, and a bit of a nasty jerk — he had a history with Harding, who openly despised him. But they were overconfident and honestly not that skilled, given the disparity of experience between them and the other houses. They liked to play dirty when they thought they could get away with it, but frequently pulled in penalties. 

Bear had a solid lineup and a nearly impenetrable defensive game, but its offense wasn't nearly as strong as Hawk's. Eli didn't think it was at all possible for Bear to win the tournament — the final score was taken from total points scored across every game, so even if Bear were able to eke out a victory every match, they wouldn't stand a chance at the final points tally. What Bear could do, though, was sabotage Wolf's ability to wrack up points against the only other team that really mattered that fall of 1987: Stag.

Stag Hall was an all around powerhouse. While not nearly so top-heavy as Hawk, its age distribution skewed older and it had a strong base of experienced players. It had a hardy defense, a ruthless offense, and a prodigious tactical prowess headed up by its captain and star player, Aleister York.

The bitter rivalry between Barker and York was a well-traveled story amongst the student body. Eli had never heard a word of it from Barker — Barker adamantly refused to even speak York's name — but the other students were more than willing to recount the salacious rumors.

" _I_ heard that York stole Barker's girlfriend, back in the summer of '83," once said Fisher, the mousey fifth year who warmed the bench next to Eli each game. When Eli had hazarded the question just before half-time of their first game against Stag, the other second stringers were all too eager to indulge.

"It wasn't just the one time," said Dalton, a pockmarked fourth year. "That girl has gone back and forth between them every summer since."

O'Reilly added, "According to my friend Carson from Lion who has a friend in Stag who knows York's _cousin_ , York's _sister_ embarrassed Barker's whole family on the golf course in front of Prince Charles by suddenly _mentioning_ the Barkers' estranged cousin Maybelle who ran off to America with a colored man, who is, get this, a _Baptist._ " 

"Yeah, that all was salt in the wound, but that's not what _really_ turned them into mortal enemies," chimed in Abbey. Abbey occasionally swapped with Tennyson on number 8 — he was _constantly_ trying to get people to call him _Abbey Eight,_ as if that were _cool,_ but it was _never_ going to catch on. Abbey could talk for longer than any person Eli had ever met. "See, Barker's father is the owner of a gentlemen's club in London of which _York's_ father is a member — now, York's father is a renowned breeder of _corgi dogs,_ and way back in 1980 he and Barker's father struck up a deal that Barker would get the pick of the next litter born to the York family's prime breeding pair, which at the time was York's Prince of Albion and York's Raphaelia on Green Fields by Buttermere. They'd even drafted up a binding contract! And so when the pups were born, the Barkers made their pick, as they had been promised — but it turned out that York had forgotten he'd made the same verbal agreement to the _Queen_ in 1964, and it just so happened that she decided to _collect_ on that promise on the very same litter to which the Barkers had been entitled. And by the stroke of luck or fate, the Queen decided that the dog _she_ wanted was the very same as little master Barker, and, well — you can't very well say no to the _Queen,_ can you? Poor Barker didn't find out that he'd lost his best friend until the whole family had driven up to the York estate with the dog crate and everything! Anyway, when Barker was up at the York estate, listening to his father scream bloody murder at _York's_ father — the whole thing precipitated quite the lengthy legal battle, you may have read about it in the papers — Barker and York met and began to speak on the subject of _football._ And when _York_ insinuated that _Chelsea_ were a gaggle of drunken apes in cleats, the rest was history."

"Is he telling the _corgi story_ again? Sweet shit, Abbey, how do you even come _up_ with this rubbish?" said Housman, a seventh year centre who loved rumors and gossip more than most bored housewives. He'd gravitated to the bench like a moth to a flame once the game let out into halftime. "Absolutely not a _word_ of that is true. Listen, and you mustn't tell _anyone_ , the _real_ reason is that Barker and York were —"

"That's quite enough, don't you think?" interjected Harding, whom no one had seen approach amidst their rapt attention to the gossip. Harding called the team together to discuss their second half strategy, and that put a stop to that; while Barker merely ignored it, Harding never tolerated talk of the rivalry in his presence.

For all Eli knew, Barker and York were best friends content to let their classmates milk the theatre of an imagined acrimony — but it certainly contributed to a particular atmosphere on campus. Fights broke out in the halls; lifelong friendships were shattered. A Wolf being seen with a Stag was unthinkable.

Tensions between Wolf and Stag had reached an all time high following that first game of the season, where Wolf suffered a decisive defeat at the hands of Stag by a margin of 24 points. Wolf was raring for a grudge match, but the two houses wouldn't face each other again until the very last game of the season. They had no choice but to wage a bitter proxy war of points in the meantime.

But everyone knew that no matter who took home the cup at the end of the day, _everything_ was riding on the outcome of that final Wolf-Stag game. Barker and York were both in their last years, and so with the end of rugby season would their story come to a close. It was a saga seven years in the making. 

As far as Eli was concerned, the rivalry was just one more thing standing between him and the recognition he deserved.

Eli released a heavy sigh from his perpetual spot on the bench as Wolf Hall won its third game of the season. They'd handily made up for their previous loss by absolutely _annihilating_ Lion and Ram, but Eli could feel little personal joy for it.

Life on the second string was truly an existence of suffering. Just the basic act of _sitting on the bench,_ conspicuously separated from play, drew an attention to his public status of _second rate_ that made Eli itch with embarrassment. He had a lot to prove, and as long as he was stuck off the field, no way to prove it.

The opportunity to watch the games was helpful, but he couldn't help but loathe the jubilation that followed victory. He especially hated watching _Barker,_ the fucking wonder child, and the overabundance of praise he received. The entire team seemed to worship that kid, but he didn't seem that special from where Eli was sitting. Eli that knew he was stronger, and he knew he was faster, and he knew that before long he would have enough experience to say he was truly _better_ than Barker. He just needed to get Harding to _see_ that.

As Eli was moodily ruminating on how to accomplish such a feat, Samuel approached from the field. Samuel was always so calm after the games — he never took part in any of the team celebrations, or even privately looked particularly satisfied by victory. He refused to use the gym showers with the rest of the team — when Eli asked why, the kid shrugged and refused to articulate a reason ( _"you don't, either," he said_ ) — so he just met up with Eli at the bench after games to go home. Eli didn't play, so he had no reason to go with the team, either. He didn't feel like he belonged — _he_ had nothing to do with the victory, after all. 

But, as they were preparing to leave, Eli chanced a glance up at the rows of people slowly filtering down from the stands and something peculiar caught his eye. He reached out to Samuel beside him to get his attention.

"That's — that's a _girl,_ " Eli observed, perhaps a bit dumbly.

Samuel cast his gaze around until he found who Eli was looking at. "Yes," he confirmed. "That's Mary Kugler. She's the headmaster's daughter. She lives here. Sometimes I see her about the campus… she likes to come to watch the games."

It wasn't as if it were _completely_ unusual to see a girl on campus — there was the female faculty, of course, and many of the teachers lived there with their own young children. But a girl their age certainly should have been away to a different school.

Mary had long blonde hair, and was modestly dressed in an outfit that perhaps unnecessarily matched the school's existing dress code for boys — grey blazer, plaid navy skirt, white socks that went up to her knees. All she lacked was a house tie over her blouse. Did her father make her dress like that, even though she wasn't actually a student?

Eli watched her with an intent fixation as she rose from her spot in the stands and followed along with the lines of leaving spectators. He wasn't the only one alarmed by her presence; the boys around her seemed to regard her as if she carried some sort of plague, complete with nervous glances and hushed whispers. She enjoyed a wide perimeter.

"Huh," Eli said, staring at the girl openly until she disappeared off onto the path back to the main campus. "That's... weird."

"I guess," Samuel said. "Well... I'm going to go home and change."

"You go home without me," Eli said, when he was suddenly stricken by what was probably a stupid idea. Samuel turned to leave without him, and Eli stood by himself by the rugby field until he mustered up the courage to march up after the team to the gym anyway.

It took a while of waiting, but he caught Harding on the way out of the locker room. Harding was walking with a group of a few other boys — including Barker, to Eli's displeasure — but the lot of them stopped when Eli approached.

"I want to talk," Eli said, affecting a grave tone that immediately caused Harding to burst into laughter.

"God, Snake, which one of us is dying?" Harding joked, but he told the other boys that he'd catch up later and allowed himself to be lead aside to a quiet corner where they wouldn't be overheard.

"I want to talk about when I'm going to get to play in a game," Eli said. "I've been working hard at practice. I think I deserve a shot at starting."

Harding's good mood gave way to exhaustion and he heaved a sigh. "Yeah, you _have,_ but —"

"But _what?_ " Eli demanded.

"Look," Harding began. "You've got three more years here if you go for your A levels, right? I think once you get through this term, and maybe play a little football during Lent, you're going to be a great starter next year." He reached out to clap his hand onto Eli's shoulder. Eli flinched, but Harding didn't seem to notice. "Lots of people don't run as starters their first year at the game. I didn't, and look at me now, right?"

Harding's hand felt like it was burning a hole into Eli's shoulder, and his skin tingled when Harding pulled away. "But I've not even been able to _play_ a real game," Eli complained. "You can't know if I'm good or not if you don't put me on. How am I supposed to learn?"

Harding screwed up his face. "I was considering maybe putting you in on wing later on in the season, but —"

"I want to play next game," Eli insisted. "I'm ready to play."

Eli waited with his breath held as Harding appeared to mull it over — his reluctance wasn't particularly good for the ego, but Eli's insistence seemed to have worn him down. " _Maybe_ I'll think about it, _if_ you do really well in practice," Harding said. 

Despite himself, Eli actually grinned. Harding seemed to find his enthusiasm infectious. "Okay, good," Eli said, backing away to run off. "Good. I'm gonna do good, I'll show you."

"You better!" Harding called after as Eli turned and fled the gym.

 

***

 

**12 October, 1987. Ocelot's office.**

Eli had to have been at least fifteen minutes late to his appointment with Ocelot, and even then 4:45 felt like it was never going to come.

He could hear the clock on the wall of Ocelot's office ticking loudly as he sat in the chair across from the counsellor's desk. Ocelot was scrawling something onto a form, and Eli was fidgeting with his own hands so badly he wanted to just snap them off at the wrists.

"So," Ocelot spoke up, for the first time in several minutes, and startled Eli out of his thoughts. "How's rugby?"

"Same as it was the last four times you asked," Eli immediately snapped. He was so fucking on edge every time he had to suffer being around Ocelot. He hated this so much.

"I see," Ocelot said. He seemed content to return to what he was doing.

But the silence was even worse than the pointless conversations Ocelot attempted to force. If Ocelot was quiet, that meant he could _start_ another conversation at any point, and Eli had no way of knowing what the next one would entail. It could be horrible. It could be about that horrible thing the both of them seemed to have decided to pretend never happened. So, Eli heaved an aggravated sigh and carried on, "Harding might finally let me play, but I had to argue him into it. I've been doing really well in practice and I feel like I'm ready, but Harding says —"

Ocelot interrupted him without looking up. "You talk about Harding a lot."

Eli felt himself begin to sweat. "S-so?"

"Just an observation."

Eli hated _everything about this._ What the fuck was that supposed to mean? What was he _implying?_ Eli's mouth opened and closed. "Can I _go_ yet?" he asked.

Ocelot looked to the clock. It was still only a little past 4:20. Shit, he'd only been there for _five minutes?_ "No," Ocelot said. "You're here with me until 4:45."

Eli wanted to throw a fucking tantrum. He couldn't stand a minute longer under this kind of scrutiny.

He prayed that Ocelot would at least give him the mercy of uncomfortable silence, but the man kept fucking _talking._ "If you decide you do want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen."

"I don't want to talk about it," Eli said.

"Suit yourself."

Eli endured the remaining half an hour in burning ignominy.

 

***

 

True to his word, Eli ran himself ragged in preparation — on top of giving it his all during regular practice, he kept on going alone or with Samuel at any chance he could get. He was as ready to play as he was ever going to be.

Harding announced the starting lineup at the end of the last practice before the game, and it did not include Eli. Eli was _furious._

"You promised," Eli angrily complained, once he'd managed to drag Harding aside.

Harding reacted to Eli's indignation with a dismissively raised eyebrow. "I didn't _promise,_ " he said, somehow managing to look down at Eli despite his shorter stature. "I said I'd think about it, and I did. Bear's been having a good defensive showing this season, and I want a strong starting line to match them. We're going up against Lion again after mid-term break and I'll feel a lot better trying you out against them."

"This isn't fai—"

"I don't care what's _fair,_ " Harding interjected. He actually looked like he was beginning to grow _angry_ — Eli was surprised when it startled and maybe intimidated him, just a little bit. "I want to win, dammit — now more than I ever have. You'll get your turn next time, Snake."

It was because of Barker, of course. Harding was too afraid to take a chance on Eli because any little slip could mean the difference between beating and losing to York.

Eli had no choice but to accept Harding's judgment and simmer in anger until the day of the match.


	8. Crimes of Passion

**14 October, 1987. Rugby pitch.**

Just like he had the last, Eli sat at the sidelines and listlessly watched Wolf's fourth game of the season unfold before him. Slowly but surely, Wolf was gaining points over Bear. It was a glacially paced match; Bear was great at _getting_ the ball, but once they had it, they had little ability to do anything with it. They weren't so impenetrable that Wolf couldn't score at all, but it made for a largely frustrating and dull watch. Eli prayed it would end soon.

The first interesting thing to happen in the game occurred just shy of the halfway mark: Beanpole, the fifth year on right wing, took a rough dive in a pileup and twisted his ankle. After a protracted exchange out on the field, at which Eli stared with anxious anticipation, Harding concluded that Beanpole needed to go to the infirmary and sit out for the rest of the match.

Eli looked up eagerly from the bench as Harding sternly approached, and waited for those words he'd been dying to hear:

"Snake, I'm putting you on." 

A grin stretched across Eli's face, and he got to work.

Eli had worried that he might be nervous, but in the end, he had nothing to fear. His preparations had paid off — he felt like he'd been on the pitch his whole life, and he played like it, too. Sport really wasn't that much different from the battlefield, when it came down to it. No one else on that field knew how to channel that urgency of life and death that Eli lived and breathed.

In the second half of the match, Wolf smashed through Bear's defenses and brought home a 28-4 point victory. Eli was all too eager to take the credit. 

The moment Eli insinuated himself onto the pitch, he became a key player, and both teams were swift to recognize it. After Eli aggressively secured the ball and blew through Bear's defensive line in his first minute on the field, he wasn't surprised to see his teammates repeatedly sending the ball his way. By the end, he'd pulled off two of the team's tries and blindsided the opposition with a drop goal from near clear across the field right before the buzzer call. 

The victory itself was a rush, but nothing was as satisfying as the look Harding gave him at the end.

"And you doubted me!" Eli called out, holding his arms outstretched in triumph. He was _not_ expecting for Harding to take it as an invitation to a crushing hug, but he did. 

"Yeah, you did fucking good, kid," Harding said. He pulled back to hold Eli at arm's length, grinning. If Eli wanted a chance to process his shock, he didn't get it — the rest of the team had descended on them in a chaotic mass of congratulatory yelling and back slaps before long, and before he knew it he was being herded along to the locker room with everybody else. 

It wasn't until his foot was through the door of the gym that Eli considered having any reservations about showering with the team. He hadn't thought he'd have a problem with it — he'd held off until now because of a sense of otherness to the team, not fear — but when he faced the impending reality of it —

He was starting to understand Samuel a little better. It wasn't as if Eli had anything to ashamed of, but he couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about it. He was less concerned about how the other kids would react to him than he was about how he would react to _them_.

He pushed down the anxiety and did his best to remain as consumed in the victory as everybody else. There really was too much commotion for there to be a serious risk of... well... and he wasn't _gay,_ anyway, so it was pointless to even worry. 

It wasn't so bad when he just went along and did it. There really wasn't anything particularly erotic about the nasty locker room showers, which were covered in indeterminate stains and smelled awful even before being filled with over a dozen sweaty teenagers. Nobody else was at all uncomfortable about it, either; the incoherent shouting didn't stop or change in nature even after everyone had their kits off.

"Can you believe that fucking dive Sheldon took in the last quarter?" Housman hooted, having no compunctions about having a loud conversation while palming his junk in the shower. "Oh my god, you could tell he was trying to get us a penalty, but the ref completely ignored his little tantrum. Did you see that _look_ on his face when he finally realized nobody was paying attention?"

"Sheldon's a little bitch and everyone knows it," snorted Johnson, the loosehead prop. Johnson had a luxurious head of hair that he took the time to thoroughly shampoo and condition in the fucking showers.

Eli told himself not to look, but really, it was impossible not to. They were all just kind of hanging _out_ there, and Eli had never seen so many dongs in one place before. His curiosity verged on academic.

He was very pleased to discover that, honestly, Barker really didn't have much going on down there. But neither did... apparently anyone else, compared to Eli. It was kind of a strange experience to realize for the first time that your penis may well possibly be very large. 

Eli just tried to stay focused on the task at hand. He took his place and turned on the showerhead, which somehow managed to blast on excruciatingly cold — it was probably a blessing, considering the circumstances. The water warmed up before long, though, so he was able to commence washing himself as quickly as possible.

His hopes of being in and out without incident were dashed when Harding elected to take the shower besides his, glanced down, and seriously fucking said, "Shit. With a name like Eli I thought you might be Jewish, but I guess not."

Time felt as if it had come to a stop as Eli slowly turned his head to stare Harding in the eye, petrified with horror. He could feel his face flushing up all the way to his ears. "Uh, er," he responded. "I, um —"

Harding burst into laughter. "Oh, god, it's your first time in the showers, isn't it?"

Eli couldn't bring himself to articulate a reply, but the fish-like appearance of his face was probably enough to answer Harding's question.

"Wow, haha, sorry," Harding said, slapping Eli on the back in what was surely supposed to be a comforting gesture but was mostly just more of his worst nightmare. "I know some of you fourthers take a while to join us — didn't mean to make your cock shock worse, mate. Don't worry, you get used to it right quick."

While Eli had deliberately scoped out just about everyone else, he _refused_ to look at Harding's dick. There was something that felt much more dangerous about it, for whatever reason. But watching the water droplets fall from Harding's eyelashes under the spray of the shower really wasn't much better, so Eli hastily finished up and excused himself to leave.

In the changing room, Abbey was using the mirror on the inside of his locker to fucking shave as he carried on an incredibly one sided conversation about his father's dressage horses with Page, both of them completely naked. Eli did his best not to draw attention to himself as he changed into a clean set of clothes, put back on his shoes and let himself out of the gym.

Eli felt more refreshed than he just about ever had, and it was with a spring in his step that he was able to return to Wolf Hall.

 

***

 

"How's Beanpole?" Eli asked at the end of next practice, trying his best to conceal his obvious intentions in asking the question.

"He's going to be fine, so the nurse says," Harding said. "It was a pretty minor ankle sprain, apparently. Good timing, too — he should be back on his feet and ready to play before the end of half-term break."

Eli didn't like the sound of that. That meant he could be back off the field before even the next game. "Um, that's good," he lied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But what about me?"

"What about you?" Harding asked. Was he fucking obtuse?

"If Beanpole heals up, am I back off the starting line?"

Harding gave Eli a cryptic look. "We'll see."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Eli demanded. "You said — you said I was good —"

"Yeah, and you were, but that doesn't mean I'll necessarily want you in on every game at this point. You're developing your strengths, but Beanpole is —"

Eli couldn't fucking believe it. What would it take to impress this guy? What did he have to _do?_ He hated this horrible feeling of whiplash where Harding would let him feel like he was on top of the world and then rip the rug out from underneath him like he was nothing. _Oh, you're great, I'm so proud of you. But you're just not quite great enough yet!_ "Did you not see that drop go—"

"I _saw_ it, Snake," Harding replied. Eli felt lead drop in his stomach at the mounting irritation in Harding's voice.

"Then —"

"Look — you act like I'm trying to go out of my way to spite you and deny you, but that's not the case at all. I'm making the decisions that I need to make to ensure that our team is the best it can be, and sometimes that means _you_ don't get what you want. Sometimes _I_ don't get what I want. Trying to juggle being a player, captain, coach, _and_ a friend to everyone on this team isn't an easy —"

" _Barker_ always gets what he wants," Eli angrily whined.

Harding scoffed incredulously. " _Barker_ is the best player Wolf Hall has seen in the past _decade._ Yeah, he gets what he wants."

Eli felt his fists balling at his sides. Even just hearing Barker's name made him angry. "He's not _that_ good —"

"I'll not discuss this any longer, Snake," Harding sighed, making a point of bodily turning away to busy himself with packing up after practice. "I'm the captain — you can accept what I say, or you can drop off the team."

Eli fumed the entire way back to the dorms.

Samuel was already back in their room by the time Eli arrived, evidently in the process of preparing to go down for dinner. He'd just had a shower and finished getting dressed, from the looks of him. Eli didn't wait for so much as a greeting before he began to bitterly complain, "Beanpole is going to be back in shape to play by the time half term break ends, which means I might be back out of the game."

"I see," was Samuel's somewhat blindsided response. He watched Eli with a guarded expression as Eli shut the door behind himself.

"Harding's a fucking liar. He's always working me up to tear me down — he gets some sort of perverse satisfaction out of toying with me, I swear it. Does he do this shit to _you?_ "

"No," Samuel simply answered.

Eli sighed dramatically and flung himself onto his bed, kicking his legs in impotent fury. "It's not fucking fair! I work hard, and I play _well_ — I'm a damn sight better than Beanpole, that's for sure — what the fuck do I have to do to convince him to give me what I _deserve?_ "

Samuel had nothing to say.

Eli groaned and rolled onto his back. "Well, it's no matter, in the end. If Harding is too much of a little _bitch_ to give me a spot on his own... then I'll _make_ him. But I might need help to pull it off."

Samuel seemed to catch on very quickly, but he didn't have the same touch for subtlety in his response. "Are you suggesting that we hurt someone?"

"Well... yeah," Eli said. He pulled himself back up off his bed and went for the washroom. "Hold that thought while I shower."

Eli left Samuel hanging on that awkward note while he went about cleaning up. He meant to make quick work of it, but he always did like to take his time in the water.

Samuel was still waiting dutifully when Eli reemerged in a towel. He was sat on his bed, quiet, with his gaze directed down to the floor. When he looked back up to watch Eli as he changed, it was with mere logistic objections. "I don't know how we'd be able to get to Hampton before his ankle heals to —"

"Not _Beanpole,_ " Eli said, pulling up his trousers. "No, let him heal. I mean to stay in the game, but not on the wing."

"... You want to hurt _Barker._ "

Eli smiled.

Samuel rose and walked to the window. He pressed his fingers to the glass and looked down to the yard below as he contemplated the task. "Barker is our strongest player," he said, voice hushed.

"I mean to change that."

Samuel turned his head to look back. "What if Harding subs someone other than you for Barker?"

Eli snorted. "There's no way he'd do that," he said. "There's not another kid on the bench that would work on fly-half. Dalton, Payne and O'Reilly are all crap, and Fisher, Abbey and Epps aren't good for the role. I'd be the only person Harding would even think about."

"Okay," Samuel said.

At first, Eli was glad to have the easily won support — but when Eli thought about it, there was _really_ something weird about this kid. He stopped, considered it, and said, "So you're volunteering to help me cripple one of our teammates, just like that?"

Samuel didn't seem to understand what Eli had suddenly taken issue with. His mouth opened and closed, before he said, "That's what you want me to do, isn't it?"

"Well... yeah. But it's a bit weird that you're willing to do it, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"I think so," Eli said.

"It's a bit weird of you to even ask, I'd say," Samuel retorted.

"Yeah, but I know why _I_ want to hurt him. Why do _you?_ "

"I don't want to hurt Barker."

"Then why —"

Samuel turned himself away from the window, and adopted as close to a stern expression as Eli had ever seen him wear. "Do you want me to do it, or don't you?"

Eli released a laugh. "All right, fine. I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," he said, fumbling with his job of buttoning up his shirt. He fucking hated shirts. He was never going to wear a shirt again, the moment he was out of this dump. He made it halfway and gave up — if anyone gave him shit for having an unbuttoned shirt during dinner he would just fling himself out the nearest window.

"I'm going to go down to supper now," Samuel announced, but lingered as if he needed permission to go.

"Fine. I'll catch up later. We'll work out our plan after break."

And so Samuel went.

 

***

 

**16 October, 1987. Wolf Hall.**

The news spread like wildfire. 

It was the very last day of school before half-term break, so none of the students were being confined to study hall that night. After hearing a cacophony of slamming doors and indistinct murmuring in the hallways, Eli emerged from his room and followed the boys rushing in twos and threes down to the commons. When he arrived, the house was all but on the verge of chaos. 

"... but they wouldn't let me into the infirmary to see him," Patel, the sixth form hooker of the team, was whispering amidst the crowded group of boys that had formed around him. 

Everyone nervously looked up when Eli approached the group. "Shit, Snake, did you _hear?_ " asked a boy Eli didn't even recognize.

Eli shook his head. "Hear _what?_ "

Johnson began, "Barker —"

"What _about_ Barker?" asked Harding. Harding had just burst into the commons in his bright orange knickers and mismatched socks, but the absurdity of his appearance seemed to be lost on the rest of the boys in the room. 

"Barker's in the infirmary. He's been hurt," Abbey blurted out.

Eli couldn't tear his eyes away from Harding's face. He watched with a mixture of nervous empathy, pity and sadism as Harding processed the news.

"What do you _mean,_ 'he's been hurt'?" Harding demanded. It seemed that he was running through outrage before anything else. "What happened?"

Patel was shaking his head. "Nobody knows exa—"

"I heard from my friend Carson from Lion that Barker was on PCP and went right out the window of the badminton court," O'Reilly said. "Carson is always in the gym upping his gains, so he was there."

"The badminton court doesn't even _have_ fucking windows, O'Reilly," Harding spat, in as close to a vicious tone as Eli had ever seen him use. "Is he — is he sick? Did he get in a _fight?_ "

The boys in the commons all looked nervously between each other. Nobody had an answer to give him.

Harding's demeanor progressed to worried panic. "Fuck. I'm going to go down to the —"

"It's past curfew now," Johnson interjected. "They won't let any of us leave the house."

"So, what, we're just supposed to just _sit_ here and — where is the housemaster?" Harding said, looking pointedly to Tanner. Tanner was a prefect, so surely he would've been briefed on the situation.

"The housemaster left to go to the infirmary. He wouldn't tell me anything," Tanner sighed.

At long last, the only person Eli actually wanted to speak to arrived. When Samuel entered the commons, the process began anew.

"Asian kid!" exclaimed Abbey. "Did you hear about —"

"I know about it," Samuel said. "I was in the library when he fell."

Suddenly, every eye in the room was on Samuel. He seemed to shrink under the scrutiny. Housman leaped up to demand details. "He _fell?_ What happened? How bad is —"

Harding reached out his arm to calm Housman down. Despite the fact he was probably the most unhinged person in the room, he at least seemed to notice how uncomfortable Samuel was with the attention. "Is he all right?" Harding asked.

"He hit his head," Samuel said. That seemed to calm the room — surely a simple head injury would heal before the end of half-term break. But then Samuel continued on, "And... broke his leg. I... I think." 

Abbey summed it up best. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fuck."

The commons just about descended into anarchy at that point. Tanner was trying to keep order, but Housman started to freak the _fuck_ out and the panicked mood spread. Eli honestly wasn't sure whether seeing Harding so devastated made him feel miserable or elated.

Either way, Samuel was obviously on the verge of straight up fleeing the room, so Eli decided he may as well take his leave. Samuel very eagerly followed along with him, and they walked in a tense silence until they returned to the safety of their room.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Samuel began to explain in a hushed whisper. "I saw an opportunity and I took it," he said. "We were both in the library checking things out before break, and he went up the stacks on a ladder, and I..."

"How bad is it?" Eli interjected. All of this would be pointless if Barker would make a recovery before the end of the season. 

Samuel shook his head. "I didn't... inspect it. I don't know. From how it looked, and how it sounded... well, I can't say for sure, but..." He paused. "It doesn't matter either way. If it wasn't enough, I'll finish the job."

"Let's hope that won't be necessary," Eli said. "Nobody saw you do it, did they?"

"No... he was unconscious when he fell, so I'm certain he didn't see me. I got away from him before he was found. I was careful that it would look like an accident."

"That's good. I guess we won't know how things turned out until after break."

"Yeah," Samuel concluded.


	9. Live To Tell

It was bizarre to even think it possible, but going to school at St. Francis fell into routine.

A day turned into a week and a week turned into a month, and before Eli knew it, half of Michaelmas term had past; though he despised his classes and put only the bare minimum of required work into his studies (fourth years were typically allowed to study in their own rooms, but Eli had gone delinquent enough times that he was forced to suffer supervised study hall with the fucking little kids), Eli was able to skate by on his intelligence alone. No matter how shoddy an effort he gave, his grades were... _fine_. Well, if you didn't look too hard at his biology marks.

Frustrating though it was to work his way up through the ignominy of second string, Eli found his time with the rugby team to be fulfilling. It was as good an outlet as any for his impulses, and it kept him from falling into a state of complete physical neglect he might have otherwise suffered. And while being on the rugby team was hardly as gratifying as leading an army, it won him some of the respect he sought. Maybe it would fill the gap better when he was inevitably named captain.

Sometimes... Eli even entertained the thought that he might _like_ St. Francis. 

On the first day of half-term break, the campus felt like a ghost town. Naturally, there wasn't much to do at a boarding school campus in the middle of nowhere, so next to everyone went home — at least apart from some of the international students, and the few like Eli, who didn't have a home to return _to_. The last of the students to leave had been filtering out the whole day, and once evening had fallen, everyone was gone.

Everything was so eerily quiet. On a normal day, Eli could walk about at any place at any time and just about always find the campus bustling with activity — now, there was no one to be seen anywhere. The administrative offices had a meager staffing, and the residences kept a skeleton crew of assistants beyond the housemaster, but most of the faculty was gone, too. Eli wasn't sure whether he relished the silence or if it was driving him mad.

It turned out that everyone on the floor of their dorm had gone home, all but for Samuel. That wasn't particularly surprising, but Eli felt compelled to pry anyway.

"Why haven't you gone home?" Eli asked, when he let himself back into their room and discovered the boy sat up in bed reading a textbook of all things.

"Why haven't _you_ gone home?" Samuel shot back.

"Because I've not got a family. Not really."

"Mm."

"But you've got a family," Eli said, sitting down on his own bed. "Your father's a cock, but what about your mum?"

"Left the country," Samuel answered.

"Oh."

"It's fine. I'd rather be here."

For whatever reason, Eli always felt oddly compelled to push forward with the conversations Samuel so clearly wanted to drop. Samuel's lack of conversationality almost seemed like a challenge, sometimes. So, in an effort to _interest_ Samuel in _anything_ , he admitted, "I've never met my father."

That seemed to have at least worked well enough to get Samuel to _look up_ , which was honestly rather a feat as far as conversing with him went. Eye contact with Samuel might as well have been an explosion of emotion in anyone else. "You hate him an awful lot, for a man you've never met," he said.

"I know what kind of man he is from the world he's created around him," Eli said. "And I know how he speaks of me — he never wanted me. One day, I will make him regret."

"Regret what?"

"Everything," Eli answered.

After a moment of silence, Samuel surprised Eli by speaking up on his own. "I've never heard my father speak ill of me," he confided. "I'm not sure he even knows I exist. But I like it fine that way."

Eli couldn't understand Samuel's complacency. The ways in which his father had wronged him plagued every aspect of Eli's existence — he couldn't simply forget that and move on. "If I were you, I'd go home every chance I got. I'd force him to notice me."

"Then why are you here too?"

Eli lay down on his bed. "... Well, I don't know where he is right now, because he replaced himself with a doppelganger."

Samuel exerted about five seconds' worth of time being confused by that statement before he concluded that he didn't care. "Well, okay," he said.

"But as soon as I'm done with school, I'll find wherever it is that he's hiding, and I'll show him what for."

"Good luck."

Eli released a sigh, and stared blankly up at the equally blank expanse of the ceiling. He was content to fall back into silence for a time, but eventually the fact that he had absolutely nothing to _do_ came back to drive him stir-crazy.

"Ugh. I'm bored," he announced.

It seemed as if Samuel was not going to bother answering, but eventually, he spoke up, "We could go out, if you'd like."

"And do what?"

"I don't know... sometimes I like to sit on the roofs and look at the sky at night."

Eli snorted dismissively. "You read too many books."

"If you'd rather not, that's fine."

"I didn't say I wouldn't go with you, _god,_ " Eli snapped. 

Samuel put aside his textbook and stood, evidently unfazed by Eli's outburst. "We'll have to sneak out. It's past curfew."

"How do you normally do it?" Eli asked, following him to his feet.

"While everyone's gone, I just go down to the second floor and climb out a window... I kept my spare room key from my first year," Samuel said. "You've got to be careful climbing down, but it's not difficult."

"Okay. Let's go."

Samuel lead them down the stairs, and just as he'd promised, let them into a vacant room on the second floor. The room was a complete mess; whoever lived there now was a _slob_. Not that Eli really had any room to criticize — his half of his room looked twice as bad.

Eli stepped around scattered clothes and garbage as he followed Samuel to the window. Samuel wrenched open the stuck locks and pushed it up, and without fear, climbed up and out.

Eli hung his head out the window and watched as Samuel perilously jumped from the window to the canopy over the building's back door. He winced as the loud sound of Samuel's drop rang through the still air of the night, and hoped the noise didn't alert anyone.

Samuel next jumped directly to the ground and rolled; even that was a pretty high drop, but he made it effortlessly and without hesitation. He stood up, uninjured, and looked up to Eli expectantly. "Well, come on," he said. "Just like that."

Eli, not wanting to look like a _coward,_ drew a deep breath and jumped. He took a bit of a clumsy landing on the canopy, and did his best to make it look like his ensuing tumble off the edge was deliberate.

When Eli took a spill onto the grass, Samuel hurriedly went to try to help him up — Eli aggressively batted his hands away and climbed to his feet. "I'm _fine,_ get away from me," he insisted. He'd scraped his knees a little, but it was nothing worth whining about.

"Well, all right," Samuel said, and turned to head off. Eli trailed at a bit of a distance so he could walk off the slight pain of his twisted ankle without notice.

Samuel favored the shadows as he carefully lead them through the campus. It was difficult to see this late at night, but Samuel didn't need light to find his way around. Eli did his best to not make any noise.

Before long, they reached a building near the chapel and faculty quarters that Eli didn't think he'd ever been in. The building was poorly maintained, compared to the rest of the campus. Samuel lead them around the back, where the placement of the windows, vines and broken down masonry on the walls provided a clear path to climb to the roof. "I usually just come up here. It's tall enough, and easy to climb."

"What building even is this?" Eli asked as Samuel effortlessly used a trash bin to give himself a boost up to one of the tall windows. 

"The international center," Samuel answered. "Doesn't see much attention."

Eli did his best to follow Samuel's path up the side of the building. Samuel had climbed it many times before, so he was able to move from window to window without delay, or concern for how far Eli was lagging behind. It was kind of a daunting climb, all things considered, but Eli had too much pride to ask him to slow down. 

Samuel had made it to the top of the building by the time Eli was halfway up, and, quite aggravatingly, turned around to sit on the edge. He quietly watched Eli as he climbed, perhaps scrutinizing his lack of speed and dexterity. Eli hoped his face wasn't burning too red.

Fortunately, Eli didn't make any humiliating blunders on his way to the top, and Samuel made no comments about Eli's performance if he had any. Once Eli surmounted the climb, Samuel scaled the incline of the roof until he reached the flat plane of the peak, where he was able to comfortably sit and overlook the campus.

Eli came to take a seat beside him, and surveyed the expanse of the yard. The international center was one of the taller buildings on the campus, perhaps bafflingly given how underutilized it was, and it allowed a convenient view down the length of the campus. Straight ahead were the administrative offices and the humanities building in the center of campus, which were encircled by the school's four sizeable yards. He could make out the back of Hawk Hall, too, but the rest were blocked from sight by Hawk or the height of the administrative building. In the distance, he could make out the playing fields beyond the dining hall and gym.

The line of trees encircling the campus blocked his view of anything beyond the school, but when he looked directly up, there was little light pollution to disturb the view of the sky. It was a clear evening, every star in the sky remarkably visible; it wasn't so different from the expanses of Africa, in that respect. It was nice enough, Eli supposed.

"So, is this just what you... do?" Eli asked, once he'd exhausted all of the things he had to look at within a matter of seconds.

"Yes," Samuel answered. "I like to look at the constellations and think."

Eli looked up into the sky. He hadn't the faintest clue what any of the stars up there were, and frankly, he'd always thought the concept of constellations were kind of bullshit. Where did they _get_ that shit from? Apart from the fact that connecting them was completely arbitrary, none of the depictions made any damn sense. "I bet you know them all," Eli snorted.

"Not really."

Eli couldn't have identified even a single constellation if he tried. He stared upwards at the heavens and found himself unentertained.

Eventually, Eli cast his gaze around for something else to look at. The building wasn't so tall that they could really see far past the trees, but he did notice one that was — the tower attached to the faculty quarters, that stretched far up above the peak of any of the other buildings' heights.

"I want to climb up there," Eli decided, gazing up to the top of the tower. It looked doable: if they crossed to the end of the international center and jumped, they could make it onto the lower roofing of the quarters, and find access to the tower. If he just climbed up along where the edge of the wall met the corner tower, and used the vines and extruding stones as footholds… "If we got up there, we'd surely be able to see all the way to the town over. I think I can make it."

"I've never tried," Samuel said, but he didn't discourage Eli from his attempt. 

Eli made up his mind. He climbed to his feet, a little perilously, and began to walk across the length of the roof. He had to climb a bit to make it to the second level of roofing of the international center, but it was fairly easy to do. This time, Samuel was the one who trailed with a hesitant curiosity.

Making it to the roof of the faculty quarters was a bit trickier. The roof they were on sloped, and the gap was wide, but if they gunned it, and jumped at just the right time — it was probably idiotic and dangerous, but Eli had little fear of injury.

"Snake, wait," Samuel hissed as Eli started a sprint down the slope of the room, but he paid him no heed. As soon as Eli reached the edge, he jumped, and only barely caught the edge of the faculty building's roof with his hands.

"Shit," Eli cursed, clinging desperately to the edge. The skin of his palms was already scraped, but he endured the pain as he pulled himself up and, in an undignified scramble, hauled his body onto the roof. When he'd safely removed himself from harm, he looked up to Samuel, who was still standing on the other roof, and said, "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

Samuel sighed, and started to run.

Eli moved himself out of the way just in time for Samuel to come crashing down beside him. He was able to jump further than Eli had, but he still collided noisily with the roofing. Eli winced.

Samuel exhaled in a gust, but didn't complain of any injury. He simply pulled himself up, and followed after Eli when he began an awkward crawl towards the tower.

"I figure if we just get up to that window, up there, we'll have a good view," Eli whispered. 

"Yeah, maybe."

Resolved, Eli approached the base of the tower and made a start, scaling slowly and methodically after identifying perilous footholds. Samuel was apprehensive, but followed suit when Eli didn't fall. 

Actually climbing the tower made it seem much taller than it really was. Eli took long moments to pause and consider his approach, leaving Samuel to wait patiently below him; Eli tried to not think too hard about how much the more experienced climber must've been judging him.

Eventually, Eli's careful planning and perseverance paid off. He was triumphant when he pulled himself over onto the balcony of the first of the tower's windows, and felt confident about getting up to the one above it; there was a pipe installed along the edge of the window, which would make scaling the rest of the way a sim— 

Eli froze when he heard the sound of voices through the window.

He hushed Samuel when the boy pulled himself over the rail of the balcony, and gestured towards the window. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, he peeked around the stone.

Inside the small tower room were Headmaster Kugler and his daughter — Mary, Eli recalled. They seemed to be having some sort of heated argument. Intrigued, Eli pulled himself back out of sight as soon as he'd gotten a good enough look, and tensely listened to the faint sounds that made it through the closed glass. 

"I can't be made to live in a tower all my life," Mary said. "I need to see the world and breathe."

"I don't bar you from leaving the tower, Mary," the headmaster answered.

"Yes, I can walk about campus, but I cannot _leave._ " Eli heard rustling and footsteps as the girl paced the room. "I've well acquainted myself with all there is to see at this school. I've read every book in the library twice over."

"That can't be true. We have thousands of --"

Mary groaned dramatically. "Goodness, Joachim, you can be so _literal._ "

_Joachim?_ Wasn't the headmaster's name _Joseph?_

"We can buy more books, if that's what you want," _Joachim_ said. "I'll bring you the Library of Alexandria if you wish it, Mary."

"It's not about the _books._ I simply wish for a little _freedom!_ Even if I could be permitted to walk to the next town over, just once in a while — is that truly so much to ask?"

"The town is nearly two hours by foot. You could be ambushed and taken on the way, and there would be nothing I could do to protect you."

Mary's voice was growing angered. "And what, praytell, was the point of bringing me here, if I am to be subject to greater bondage than that which I ever suffered under my mother's thumb? At least I could see the Thames from my prison!"

"Mary…"

The headmaster's dejected voice seemed to defuse Mary's fury. She released a sigh, and stepped towards her father. "I didn't mean that," she said, her tone softened to something much more fond. "I know you only want what's best for me, but…"

"I want you to be happy, truly, I do," the headmaster said. Eli couldn't help but peek again; he took his daughter's hands into his, when she offered them. "But you know there are certain sacrifices we must make to keep you safe. Your mother is not the only one who might seek to use you."

"No one's come for me in years. Surely the urgency has passed," Mary said.

"No one's come specifically because I've kept you so guarded. I worry that even the exposure you're allowed on campus now will draw the wrong kind of attention."

"You mustn't worry so much," Mary insisted. "Am I to live a life of terror until my mother draws her final breath? If she even _need_ breathe any longer today."

The headmaster exhaled heavily, and brought his hands to his daughter's face.

That was… uh… _wow._ That was _not_ the way a father was supposed to kiss his daughter. 

In his surprise, Eli's foot inched the wrong way and made a sound just loud enough to obviously startle Mary — Eli pulled away and flattened himself and Samuel against the side of the wall in a knee-jerk reflex. Did she see him?

"What is it? Did you see something?" the headmaster asked, sounding both nervous and angry. Eli felt his pulse quicken.

"I… no," Mary answered. Eli released the breath he had been holding. "I just heard a bird flying close to the window, that's all."

Thankfully for Eli, the headmaster seemed pacified by that assurance. "Ah. I suppose we've both been jumping at shadows as of late."

"So we have… perhaps it's best if we retire for the evening," Mary said. Eli could tell from her voice that she was more unsettled than she wanted to let on.

The headmaster sounded concerned. "Are you unwell?"

"No, just a bit tired," Mary answered, making a good show of nonchalance. "I'll have an early night, I think."

Eli turned his head to look to Samuel, who was still pressed against the wall by Eli's outstretched arm. Their faces were close, but the boy looked to him with unreadable eyes. "We should get out of here," Eli whispered.

Samuel nodded, and when Eli released his hold, quickly began the effort of scaling back down the tower. Eli followed suit.

Getting back down was much easier than climbing, but felt even more perilous in their rush. They jumped from roof to roof, and then made a short trip of the climb down the back of the international center.

Eli felt compelled to run the moment he touched back down on the ground. He darted towards the dorms, not daring to look back behind him; he only checked to see that Samuel was still following when they reached the residence hall, and found that the boy had been with him like a shadow the entire time.

Eli and Samuel climbed back into the residence through the second floor window and snuck back into their room without detection. Eli still felt flooded with adrenaline once they'd reached safety, and couldn't help but pace the room to release his pent up energy.

"What the fuck did we just _see?_ " Eli breathed out, once he'd shaken off the bulk of his jitters.

Samuel was sat on his bed, already fully calmed down. He never seemed very fazed by any of this to begin with. "A... crime, I think," he said.

"How old even _is_ that girl?"

"I'm pretty sure she's our age..." Samuel said, gazing out of the window. They could see the tower in the distance from their room. "15... maybe 14, still. I don't know when her birthday is."

Eli was at a complete loss for what he was even supposed to _do_ with this information. "Should we... should we _tell_ someone?"

"No," Samuel answered quickly. "It's none of our business."

"None of our _business?_ " Eli echoed, gesticulating. "The headmaster is a fucking _paedophile._ "

Eli didn't understand why he was so angry. He didn't even _know_ this girl, and there was no reason for him to care whether she was fucking her father or not. All the same, he was burning with some inexplicable fury, and he felt the bloodlust rising, and there was no one better to direct it at than _that man._

Samuel remained inexplicably calm. "It's never a good idea to get involved in things like this. We don't know what would happen if we told — to her, or to us."

"But..."

"We should just stay out of it," Samuel insisted, with an uncharacteristic conviction. 

He wasn't wrong. Eli couldn't envision any way that his intervention would result in a positive outcome — what was he going to do, fight the boss of the school? The police weren't going to do shit, with how rich the guy had to be. Maybe he could tell Ocelot, but...

"Yeah," Eli eventually conceded. He sat down on his bed with a sigh, and followed Samuel's gaze back out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very weird fic that is only going to get weirder, so I am surprised and glad anyone has even clicked on this. I don't respond to comments because my dreadful personality is too much for anonymity but I like them. Thank you for doing them.


	10. Gambler

**2 November, 1987. St Francis.**

School resumed. 

Eli found out soon after the other students returned what had become of Barker. Barker had suffered a concussion and a fracture in his tibia — which almost certainly meant that he would be off the field for the rest of rugby season.

It honestly didn't look like Harding had slept at all over the break. When the team met up for practice, Harding had dark circles under his eyes, greasy hair, and generally looked like shit. He refused to even talk about Barker. It was as if the kid had fucking died.

It almost made Eli feel bad — at least until Harding took him aside and solemnly informed him that he would have to take Barker's place.

"There's no one else who can do it, not on Barker's level," Harding sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I want to take extra time with you to practice. You're not as good as Barker, not yet, but if we really —"

"Just tell me when you want me on the pitch," Eli said, giddiness building up in his chest. "I'll do whatever it takes to get where you need to me be."

"I... thank you, Snake," Harding said. 

Eli walked to the gym with his head held high and full confidence that he'd made the right decision. 

After an unusually somber and subdued trip to the showers, Eli was surprised to find something peculiar placed neatly on top of his haphazard pile of clean clothes in his locker. Intrigued, he picked it up to inspect it; it was an unmarked envelope, unsealed, but carefully tucked into itself. He pulled it open and extracted the folded paper inside. 

The note had no address and no signature. Scrawled across the center in a looping hand, it said:

_Meet me in the chapel at 5:30._

Eli didn't have to think hard to guess who the note was from — the handwriting very obviously belonged to a girl. It was clear what this must have been about.

Eli had never been inside the chapel before, but he was aware of its general location nearby the faculty quarters. It was one of the older buildings on campus, but looked to be very lovingly maintained. It was deserted when he arrived, predictably.

From the interior, it felt much closer to a cathedral than a simple campus chapel; though it couldn't have truly been _that_ big, the vaulted ceilings seemed to stretch impossibly high over the equally lengthy expanse of the nave. Eli was self-conscious as he made his way down the aisle between the pews; each of his resounding footsteps repeatedly announced him to the figure kneeled beneath the altar, though she gave no indication that she noticed.

Eli came to stop just beside her, at a loss for what to say. The girl was sat with her hands clasped before her, and staring up with eyes wide but not open.

"Mary," he eventually said; the girl's name felt strange in his mouth. She snapped to attention suddenly at the sound.

"Hello, Eli," Mary said, gazing up at him with clear eyes and a warm smile that left him mildly discomforted. He didn't like it.

"What did you want?" Eli reflexively demanded, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture.

Mary's smile faltered at his telegraphed hostility, but she maintained a practiced veneer of magnanimity. "Just to talk," she said. "Why don't you sit and pray with me?"

Eli's lip curled in disgust. "God is fake," he said.

"Oh," Mary responded, tilting her head. "I'm... sad that you feel that way, Eli."

"I don't care how you feel."

"And yet you came anyway."

Eli didn't know how to reply, and he was growing agitated by her disaffected calm. Eli liked to shout and fight and kill; he didn't know how to play the games girls played, and it made him feel bizarrely vulnerable to even try. There was no way to know when he'd won or lost.

"This is stupid," he spat. "I'm leaving."

"Eli, wait," Mary called out as he turned to go, and Eli cursed himself when he hesitated. "Please. Would you stay and listen, just for a little while?"

 _Why didn't he just leave?_ He wanted to, but for some reason, he couldn't make himself refuse her. He grit his teeth and balled his hands into fists, and willed his legs to simply go — but before he knew it, he'd come to kneel beside her. He looked to her, uneasy, and waited for any cue.

Mary crossed herself, and began to mutter with her head hung, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…" She paused, her face falling. "I'm afraid I've never before been able to confess my sins."

Eli watched her with uncomfortably rapt attention as she carried on. "God, I am guilty of many sins," she confessed. "I have harbored impure thoughts about a man to whom I am not yet married, and he is many years my elder. I have cursed and disrespected my mother, and cast aside my blood and kin. I have coveted the fortunes of those with more liberty than I, and acted rashly to better my lot… I understand that many have come to harm because of the choices I have made, whatever injustice I may feel I was escaping. And now I walk amongst my fellow man draped in a tapestry of lies and deception so heavy I fear I may be crushed beneath its weight."

Mary fell silent for a time, eyes closed and unmoving. She had an almost ghostly visage; her brows and lashes were so pale as to be nearly invisible, and her skin seemed to glow under the soft light from the chapel's windows. While there was nothing aesthetically offensive about her, Eli wasn't sure he'd call her pretty; she looked closer to a doll than a person, and there was something unsettlingly familiar about her that he couldn't quite place.

When Mary resumed, she spoke with a renewed clarity. "Please, God, forgive me for all I have done to offend You. I regret my sins with all of my heart, for I fear the loss of Heaven and the fires of Hell, but not least of all the pain of Your disapproval. I swear solemnly that I will live a pious life, in sole service to You, our Heavenly Father, and no other master. Amen." 

It seemed that she was done. Eli wasn't sure what to do, so he didn't say anything. He waited until she looked to him, smiled and said, "Thank you, Eli."

"I didn't do anything."

"You cannot absolve me of my sins, Eli. No one can," Mary said. "But you have given me the gift of my confession. I feel as if a great burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Thank you."

"… Whatever," Eli snorted, and then moved to stand. "Can I go now?"

Mary climbed to her feet in a graceful motion, taking care to smooth her skirt. "Walk with me to the garden?"

The girl didn't wait for Eli's response, but he nevertheless found himself begrudgingly falling into step with her anyway. She lead him out of the chapel and down the steps and quickly across the central campus promenade; Eli grew self-conscious from all of the gawking stares and turned heads of so many of the students they passed by. Mary was a perpetual spectacle — it was no wonder she mostly kept to herself.

Their journey took them to the edge of the campus behind the science building, where there was a small garden fenced in by walls of high hedges. Mary unlatched the wooden gate and allowed them inside; along the lines of hedges were beds of planted flowers, though this far into the fall, the foliage had grown sparse.

There was a little shed in the back of the garden, and Mary let herself in to retrieve a pair of gardening gloves, a spade, towel, and a little cardboard box. "It's about time to take the bulbs in," she said.

Eli said nothing. He watched her carefully as she went about the flower beds, extracting the delicate dahlias and begonias. 

"I don't know why, but I feel that I can trust you, Eli," Mary said, looking over her shoulder as she gently cleaned soil from a bulb. "I want you to understand what it was that you saw, and impress upon you the urgency of my secrecy."

"I've not told anyone," Eli quickly protested. When he recalled, he added, "But my roommate Samuel was there as well. He knows."

"Then I'd be grateful if you were to convey to him my wishes."

"Right," Eli said. His hands self-consciously found their way into his pockets. "What do you want to tell me, then?"

It looked like she'd just about finished. She set the rest of her tools into the box beside the bulbs, and rose to stand. "I am not Mary Kugler, and Joseph Kugler is not my father," Mary confided.

"You called him Joachim," Eli recalled.

"Yes. That is his real name. But that has no meaning to you. Please do not repeat it."

"Who are you, then?" Eli asked.

Mary paused for moment before she decided, "I can't tell you."

Eli grit his teeth. "Then why are you wasting my time?"

Mary seized up, and looked to Eli. "W… well," she stammered. "Though I cannot tell you much… truthfully, I feared that if I were to simply let you be, you would carry on believing that I am sleeping with my own father. I'd much rather you not see me that way."

Did she think he _cared_ who she was fucking? He didn't get this girl. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to buy into her Catholic schoolgirl act, after what he just saw. "What's that even matter? Blood or not, the bloke is what, fifty years older than you? Still pretty fucked up." 

"I've not slept with him at all," she defensively snapped, holding the box closer to her chest. She'd been careful not to get any dirt on her clothes as she worked, but the edge of the box smeared her blouse. "We are waiting to be married, when I come of age. And I'll have you know he's only fifty-one —"

Eli burst out into raucous laughter, and delighted in the way the girl's face flooded with indignant color. "That's _rich,_ " he snorted. "As if that old todger's ever taken no for an answer in his life. I know his lot."

"You do _not_ know him," Mary protested, her delicate brows knit over her blazing eyes. Her expression of outrage felt strange and ill fitting, like an article of clothing that hadn't quite been broken in. "Nor do you know _me_. I am not so weak that I — my principles — I am a woman of _God!_ "

Eli rolled his eyes. "Right, and _I'm_ on Mount Rushmore."

"You — I — I feel like you owe me an apology, honestly!" When Eli's only response was to snort, she carried on, "Is a little respect truly so much to ask for?"

Eli had had just about enough of entertaining this girl. "Respect this," he said — and, just before he turned to walk away, performed an obscene gesture that involved grasping his crotch.

He heard but did not see Mary's box clattering to the ground. 

 

***

 

**3 November, 1987. St Francis.**

For once, Eli was early to his appointment. 

Though he usually endeavored to disrespect Ocelot to the fullest of his capabilities without completely shirking his requirement to visit, his encounter with Mary weighed on him with greater urgency than his compulsion to annoy Ocelot.

He really did want to tell someone about what he saw in the tower. He'd gotten a tantalizing glimpse of something he knew must've run deep, and his curiosity was just about consuming him. Maybe Ocelot would even have some idea of what was happening — the man seemed to know just about everything there was to know about anything slimy or underhanded that happened to be going on.

He arrived at Ocelot's office a little past quarter to 4, just as soon as his classes let out, and encountered a much younger student on the tail end of his own appointment. Eli watched the kid leave with puzzlement, and then let himself into Ocelot's office.

"Hello, Eli," Ocelot remarked from behind his desk. "You're early."

Eli glanced back over his shoulder. "Do you, like... _work_ here?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean — you actually do a job, with other students? You aren't just here to babysit me?"

"Er... yes," Ocelot answered. "It's hardly an effective cover if I see only one student."

Eli invited himself to take a seat across from Ocelot. "Are you even _qualified_ to work this job?"

Ocelot absently began rifling through papers on his desk. Since many of their appointments were filled primarily by Eli's skulking, Ocelot was always eager to have something else ready to do — apparently, the paperwork he was doing was _real,_ and not just something to snub Eli like he'd assumed. "Adam Doe has a degree in educational psychology from Vanderbilt University," Ocelot said.

"But _you_ don't."

"I don't," Ocelot confirmed. "But I've certainly done plenty of study into how the mind works, and how to shape it — and children are even simpler to work with."

"It seems kind of fucked up to let you loose on a bunch of kids," Eli said, scrunching up his face. "Aren't your main skills gun twirling and torturing prisoners?"

"You'd be surprised by how many different circumstances there are in which the skills I've acquired prove themselves suitable," Ocelot intoned with a wry smile that made Eli's mouth dry up.

Eli all but forgot his reason for coming as he stared at Ocelot's lips. _Was_ he seeing things that weren't there? Eli couldn't help but read into the way Ocelot looked at him. Had it always been that way? Did Ocelot look at his father that way? Did he _want_ Ocelot to be interested in him?

"You're a fucking freak," Eli said, although he wasn't quite sure whether the comment was directed at Ocelot or himself.

"Sure, maybe," Ocelot agreed. "But you're hardly one to talk."

"I'm not like _you._ "

"Aren't you?" Ocelot said.

The entire concept was completely ridiculous. Eli knew he wasn't _gay._ He'd seen magazines before, back when he was with the Diamond Dogs, of girls with their tits out. He'd known he liked them then, and he'd kept liking them ever since. He couldn't be gay if he liked tits. 

Ocelot was messing with his head. That was what he _did._ Ocelot never really walked out of the interrogation room — everything was always some sort of ploy to get what he wanted. Eli couldn't figure out how he'd done it, but he was certain that Ocelot had done something to _make_ him this way. 

He wondered what Ocelot's cock would look like.

"... Eli," Ocelot said.

Eli snapped back to attention; he'd evidently stopped listening to whatever it was that Ocelot was saying. From Ocelot's reaction, he must've looked pretty embarrassed. 

"As you have just seen: I honestly do have better things to do, if you aren't interested in paying attention to what I have to say," Ocelot reminded him.

The questioned tumbled out of Eli's mouth of its own volition, and he instantly regretted it. "I — do you _like_ me?"

Ocelot seemed mildly surprised to receive that pitch from left field, but there was a look of revelation on his face as he realized what their conversation had been _about_ the last couple of exchanges. He didn't react reflexively; he gave his reply a good deal of thought before he answered, "No."

Eli scowled moodily. "I mean, in _that_ way."

"I knew what you meant."

It was a humiliating struggle to speak more concretely than in euphemism. "But — are you — _attracted_ to me —"

"No," Ocelot said.

Eli became instantly convinced that Ocelot was lying. It didn't add up. He wasn't _crazy._ He saw how Ocelot looked at him. He couldn't have just been _imagining_ it all. This was so _frustrating._

"I don't get it," Eli complained. "You must like how I look. I'm his _clone._ "

"Yes, you are," Ocelot said. He wouldn't break eye contact. It was unnerving. "Which is why I said I wasn't attracted to _you_."

So he _was_ right! Eli was getting so heated that he had to stand up. It was a bizarre mixture of undirected anger and excitement that just left him feeling aimlessly unsatisfied. "You mince your bloody words, but if you really do —"

Ocelot cut Eli off before he could make it any further into what was surely devolving into an embarrassing outburst. "There's more to attraction than physical appearance, Eli," he said, and then endeavored to return to the pile of work on his desk.

Eli was undeterred. "What? Like what?"

Ocelot glanced up from his paperwork to give Eli a positively withering look. Eli refused to let himself be cowed.

"What is it, then?" Eli demanded. "Do I look _too much_ like him? Does that make you upset? What, are you _scared_ of me?"

"You do look like him, yes. But that is where the similarities end," Ocelot dismissively answered, his tone devoid of any emotion.

For all that Eli loathed his father, the comment cut deep. His immediate impulse was to protest, but the moment he opened his mouth, he realized how that would sound — after years and years denying his inextricable connection to his father, he was bristling at the first time anyone acknowledged that he _was_ different?

Eli clenched his jaw and his fists, but he held himself back. "But if there's a, a physical — I mean, that's enough, right?"

"Enough for _what,_ exactly?"

 _That really was a good question._ Heat began to rise in Eli's face — what _did_ he want? If Ocelot was attracted to him, and he was attracted to Ocelot, then — did he want to _do it?_ With _Ocelot,_ or — what would that even be _like,_ with a man? It wasn't as if he didn't know how it _worked,_ but he'd obviously never seen it _done,_ or had any ability to imagine what it would feel like. Screwing a girl had to be just like jacking off, but with a man — well, it seemed pretty obvious that Ocelot would make _him_ be the girl in this situation. Would it _hurt?_

It wasn't like Eli was afraid of a little pain.

When Eli proved unable to articulate a response, Ocelot released a truly exhausted sigh. "Eli, you're fifteen years old. You wouldn't be able to handle it."

Anger welled up in Eli's chest. He hated being told what he was or was not capable of doing. "Couldn't — couldn't _handle_ — I could take you down to the _balls,_ old man," Eli snapped.

Ocelot fell deathly silent, and stared Eli right in the eye. The smug grin seemed to work its way onto Ocelot's face in tandem with the burning red that flushed Eli's cheeks. Ocelot didn't need words to communicate his amusement; he simply waited for Eli to realize what he'd just said.

"I — I didn't —" Eli choked. "Shut the _fuck_ up!"

The sound of Ocelot softly laughing haunted Eli long after he violently slammed the door shut behind himself.


	11. Crazy For You

The first week after St. Francis returned from half-term break was characterized by a miserable mood. No one expected Wolf Hall to make a comeback from losing Barker, least of all the team itself. 

Eli filled nearly all of his free time with extra practice, but he found he didn't really mind. He looked _forward_ to it, even when it was just him and Harding alone doing boring drills or jogging the campus. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time.

Harding even started attending the other teams' games along with Eli, just to make various tactical observations Eli might otherwise not have noticed. "Felton is the one you really have to watch out for in Hawk," he'd say. "He's unexpectedly quick for his size — he'll even come at you sluggishly to fool you into thinking he can't move on a dime, and then he'll flip on you just like that. You'd think the trick would wear thin after the first few times, but he's so big it's like your brain doesn't even want to believe it. But he's real weak on his left side. If you know what you're doing, you can almost reliably use him as a tool to force Hawk into a knock-on — Barker got really good at that."

It was useful to Eli on the pitch, that was for sure — no matter how honed his skills became, he'd never have all of the years of experience playing against these kids that Barker did. He needed all of the help he could get to make up for it, and Harding's critical eye and commentary proved almost as formative as actually playing did.

More than anything, though, Eli was coming to... enjoy Harding's company. Eli wasn't sure if he'd ever truly _wanted_ another person to be around before.

It was almost strange to contemplate, the concept of thinking of another human being beyond his practical application as a _tool._ Harding wasn't a killer, and he would never understand anything about the way that Eli had to live, but he was easy to be around. Harding had a very agreeable demeanor that even Eli struggled to find fault with — now that Eli was properly on the track to becoming the team's star player, he had little reason to be angry. 

And the work was paying off. Their first game with Eli on fly-half was a _little_ rocky, but he adapted quickly to the role. He expected to lose to Hawk, so that didn't come as a surprise — the following match against Lion gave Eli much more room to work through his inexperience. Since the rematch against Hawk was scheduled just a week after that, Wolf's unanticipated comeback victory reignited hope that they might actually pull through to the end of the season.

But Wolf was considerably trailing Stag on points, so whatever victories they attained were haunted by a spectre of doubt that they would ever manage to close the gap. "That Snake kid isn't so bad," he'd catch people whispering when they thought he could not hear, "but there's no way they'll beat Stag in the end. Not even _Barker_ could bring them back from this."

Eli had every intention of proving them wrong. 

By all accounts, their second match against Bear on the 21st of November should've been an easy victory — no one doubted that Wolf would _win._ The only victories Bear had even managed all season were against Lion and Ram, who were best described as "a complete joke". What no one expected was how thoroughly Eli would crush them. 

The defensive powerhouse of St. Francis was absolutely nothing against Wolf under Eli's lead. Eli had an innate tactical prowess, and his aggressive offensive was far greater than anything Bear could field in retaliation. Towards the end of the game, it had honestly felt like Bear had simply given up and been overwhelmed by the crushing shame of defeat; not only did Bear fail to score even _once,_ Wolf took home enough points to bring them within the margin of a game beneath Stag's theretofore unopposed string of victories. 

Even his own team's response verged on disbelief. They'd never pulled off so many points in a single game before, not even against _Lion._ For the first time, it looked like it might actually be possible for them to _win._

"Bloody _fuck,_ what if we actually come _back_ from this?" exclaimed Cross, one of the sixth form flankers.

Eli was just getting into the shower. He certainly wasn't embarrassed anymore. "What _if?_ " he scoffed. "There's only one game left before we face Stag again, and it's against Ram. We _will_ come back. We're going to leave Stag in the _fucking_ dust."

"You've got big fuckin' balls, Snake," laughed Gilliam, the number-4 lock. How these fucking kids managed to obliviously pull lines like this in the damn showers was completely beyond Eli's comprehension. "Real lucky Harding picked you up, innit?"

"Holy shit, did Gilliam just _compliment_ someone?" said Housman.

Harding's mood remained as grave as it ever was, these days. He stood by the edge of the shower area with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a spot to free up. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he proclaimed. "Our victory today was the product of all of the sweat and blood we've poured into training over this past season, and so will be any victory we have going forward. The moment we start looking to _luck_ or _fate_ or _god,_ it's all over for us."

Gilliam made a farting sound with his mouth under the water. "You're a real downer these days, Hardman."

"Don't think I won't take you down right here and now, Gilligan," Harding shot back.

"You know, we should really have some sort of celebration," Housman suggested, raising his voice over the din of the bickering and blasting showerheads. 

Harding shook his head, looking down over the showering students like a ruthless taskmaster surveying his disappointments. "We're still trailing Stag. We can't afford to get complacent."

"Having a little fun isn't _complacent,_ " Housman groaned, throwing his head back under the spray. "Seriously, we should take the bus into the town and have a day. There's still time for us to make it if we round up quick."

"YEAH! I LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT!" Abbey loudly shouted from the adjacent locker room.

The rest of the team joined in with murmurs of agreement, despite Harding's reluctance. Eli finished up in the shower and got out to dry off, letting Harding take his spot. He felt a jolt of bloodlust when he caught a glimpse of Gilliam slapping Harding on the ass, and got out of the room before he would be forced to witness the ensuing shower brawl.

Eli did his best to distract himself as he changed in the locker room. He had to admit he was kind of curious to see what the town was like; he'd never even thought to go onto one of the Saturday trips. He wasn't sure what there even was to do there, and he didn't want to waste an entire day in a shithole with nothing to do. But if they convinced Harding to go...

"Hey, Snake, you in if we head into the town?" asked Abbey. Abbey hadn't even played in the game, but he'd taken a shower anyway, and was still naked but for the towel wrapped around his hair. He was sitting with his damn balls flopped out onto the changing bench while he perused an onerous hardcover of Chaucer. 

Eli didn't particularly understand the appeal of nude locker room confabulations, so he finished pulling up his trousers before he answered. "Uh... maybe."

"I, for one, am ready to get _wasted,_ " announced Housman as he strode out from the showers. 

Abbey snorted and snapped his book shut. "Are you even old enough to drink?"

"Turned 18 in September," Housman boasted. He opened up his locker and began rifling through his things.

"You'll have to smuggle out a damn cask for the rest of us, then," Abbey said, and finally began to put on his fucking clothes. 

The rest of the team seemed to be about done with showering. As Sumner emerged along with Gilliam and Harding, he said, "Actually, my girl works at one of the pubs in the town. She'll serve us, no trouble."

Housman's voice was muffled as he struggled with pulling a sweater over his head. "Damn, Sumner, aren't you 16? Like your meat well done, huh?"

"She's only 21," Sumner protested, rather sheepishly, when the locker room began to laugh and jeer.

"What the fuck?" said Tennyson, circling around from the other side of a row of lockers. "Sumner is fucking an old lady?"

"She's real fit, you lot of sorry bastards. You won't be laughing when you see her tits."

"Hey, don't scare him off. We need this decrepit paedophile crone to break the law some more for our sake," laughed Housman.

Sumner looked so embarrassed. "I'm _legal,_ " he objected.

Tanner released a heavy sigh. "Am I _truly_ going to be the only one who objects to flagrantly committing crimes?"

"You sure are," answered Housman. "So how about it? Who's in?"

Eli was surprised by the number of cowards who backed out. Daniels, Beanpole, Tennyson and "Fred", all fifth years, didn't want to risk breaking the law; Cross, a sixth year, claimed he was just too tired; Patel said he just didn't like drinking; Tanner took a pass because he didn't want to lose his prefect status. That left Johnson, Gilliam, Page, Housman, Abbey and Sumner, while Harding continued to waffle on whether or not he would go. 

"Come on, Harding, let loose a little," Housman insisted, hassling Harding intently as he tried to dress himself. "Having a bit of fun after our best game of the year won't _kill_ you."

Eli actually felt a little _excited_ when Harding sighed and finally relented. "I... _guess_ I'll go."

The group finished up in the locker room and gathered up to head out across the campus. The bus to the town would be waiting for them in the parking lot by the front gate, Johnson said.

They didn't have long left before it was going to leave, so they had to make good time. Harding wasn't helping things when he called the group to a stop before they passed between Wolf and Bear Hall to cut through to the parking lot. "Wait," he called out. "We should invite Barker."

Eli grit his teeth, but Johnson thankfully objected for him. "Come on, we don't have time. The bus is bound to leave in five minutes."

Harding shook his head. "I have to try," he said, stubbornly hanging back.

"Ugh. I'll see if I can get them to hold," Johnson said, and jogged off ahead on his own.

"We don't have time to go up there and drag him down," Eli groaned.

Harding looked about ready to rush up anyway, but Abbey cut him off with a more creative solution. "Oi, Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarker!" he shouted, pelting a fourth floor window with whatever rocks he could pick up off the ground. "Get down here!"

It only took a few shots before Barker pulled open the window and stuck out his head. "What are you _doing?_ " he hissed.

Housman started waving his arms and yelling unnecessarily loudly. "Get your fat arse down here! We're going into the town!" 

It wasn't long before kids in other rooms were opening their windows too, just to see what all of the noise was about. "What's going on down there?" one of them shouted back.

"Nothing that concerns you! We're hollering at Barker!"

"This is really all unnecessary," insisted Barker.

When _Samuel_ opened his window, though, Eli joined in. "Hey, you get down here too!" he commanded. Samuel very promptly closed his window to obey the direction. 

Barker, though, was less easily persuaded. "I'm not really feeling up to it, mate," he yelled down.

"Nonsense! Get your damn crutches and come with us! The bus is leaving any minute now!" Housman demanded. Harding seemed less inclined to yell, but he waved encouragingly.

Eli was greatly relieved when Barker shook his head and sadly shut his window. He was less relieved when he saw Harding's face.

"Ugh... just go on without me. I've got to stay and talk with him," Harding sighed, moving to enter the building.

On impulse, Eli's hand shot out and grabbed Harding by the arm. "No, wait."

Harding whipped around, startled, and said, " _What?_ "

"Come _on,_ " Eli insisted, tightening his grip. "You can't let him ruin everything."

Harding looked disbelieving. " _Ruin everything?_ Barker is my _best friend,_ " he said.

Eli grit his teeth and forced down the wave of unpleasant emotion that momentarily overwhelmed him. "What, are you just never going to enjoy anything in your life again because Barker is sad?"

Harding's mouth opened and closed. "I —"

Just then, the doors to the hall opened up and every head turned to stare in expectant anticipation. To Eli's relief, and Harding's visible dismay, it was Samuel who stepped out onto the yard. "Hi, what's going on?" Samuel asked.

"We're going down to the town," Housman explained.

"Okay," said Samuel.

Eli realized he was still holding on to Harding's forearm, but it was strangely difficult to let go. "You should come," Eli said, in as gentle a voice as he could manage. The warmth of Harding's skin beneath his fingers made it easier. 

It looked like Harding was about to reply, but Johnson hollering from around the side of the building cut him off. "Come on! They won't wait for us any longer! If we don't all go now, we're going to miss the bus!"

When the rest of the group moved to rush over to the parking lot, Eli pushed his luck and tried to drag Harding along with him. While he had to tug just a bit at first, Harding eventually surrendered and went along with the others. Eli surprised himself with how glad that made him feel.

The lot of them loaded onto the bus with about 20 other students, most of them from other houses or years. The very impatient bus driver started up the engine as soon as they piled on and yelled for everyone to take their seats; not everyone made it before he started to peel out of the parking lot. 

The trip into the town couldn't have actually taken that long — especially given how fast the driver was _driving_ — but the ride seemed to stretch into infinity once Abbey launched into an unfathomable tall tale about how his second cousin Marble from Lower Slaughter once drove a double decker bus across the African continent to deliver a shipment of lifesaving medicine to starving children. He didn't make it to the end of the story — after a particularly heinous twist involving a snake bite and the sudden appearance of, "I swear upon my grandfather's grave, Desmond Tutu", the bus driver stopped three quarters of the way to the town and told Abbey to start walking.

The rest of the group arrived intact at the town at a little past 6, and were sternly informed that the bus would be leaving at exactly 9 and no later.

As Eli's group disembarked from the bus, another group of students piled on in their place. The school ran buses back and forth from the town every few hours on Saturday in the afternoon and evening, so the upperclass students could come and go as they pleased after the half day of classes. 

Dropped in the center of the town, it was a bit of a trek following Sumner down to the pub where his fabled girlfriend was supposedly employed. The place, which, according to the rusty appellation hung above it, was called the fucking "Thirsty Mare", had a bit of run down, dingy appearance. It didn't seem too well trafficked, compared to some of the pubs they'd passed closer to the center square. That did, however, bode well for their willingness to serve a bunch of underage schoolboys. 

Sumner lead them inside the dimly lit building. There was actually a surprising number of people already inside — most of them seemed to be older men from the town off from work at the nearby shops. There were a number of young women serving drinks, including what must have been Sumner's girlfriend — at least, that's who Eli assumed the girl jumping up and down and waving her arms was.

"Daisy!" said Sumner.

"Oh, Timmy! I didn't expect you in today!" gushed Daisy, as she rushed up to greet Sumner at the front.

Sumner had not been lying. Daisy had truly enormous breasts, and was not the least bit shy about displaying them. Her tremendous jugs threatened to spill out over her direly undersized blouse, and every single motion she took caused them to jiggle tremulously in their precariously restrictive bindings. Looking at them was honestly a nerve-wracking experience — it seemed as if they might burst free at any moment. It was physically impossible for Eli to turn his eyes to anything else. 

The mesmerizing quality of Sumner's girlfriend's breasts drowned out any of the oral communication that must have transpired between their entrance and their being seated at the large corner booth at the back of the pub. The eight of them crammed into the seats around the table, and Daisy stood at the ready to take their orders.

"What'll it be, boys?" Daisy asked, exposing a grin full of rather crooked teeth. Well, it wasn't like anyone was likely to be looking at them for long.

Suddenly, Abbey burst through the doors of the pub, panting and drenched in sweat. "I'm here! I'm here!" he yelled.

Housman slammed his fist down onto the table with a resounding bang that caused Sumner to jump. "Bring me some fucking bangers and mash, and your _shittiest_ beer," he loudly demanded. Daisy happily began scratching away at her notepad.

To Johnson and Gilliam's great displeasure ( _"You smell like a fucking hog's carcass," sneered Gilliam_ ), Abbey squeezed his way past to stick himself right next to Housman. Out of breath, he raised his hand. "I'd like your second to most shitty beer."

"Mhmm," hummed Daisy.

"Bring me a tremendous basket of chips, and some vodka, neat," said Gilliam.

"Have you any _Cabernet Sauvignon?_ " Johnson asked, taking great care to perfect the French pronunciation.

"We've got some Franzia box wine," Daisy dryly answered.

"I... I suppose that'll do."

After Johnson's display, Page was too embarrassed to try to read what he wanted off the menu, so he pointed it out to Daisy. Sumner, sat next to Page, just told his girlfriend he wanted the usual. Last was Harding, who simply ordered some scotch.

When it was finally his turn, Eli realized he'd... actually never had a drink before in his life. He knew literally nothing about alcohol. "Uh, what's good?" he asked.

Daisy laughed. "Sweetie, good's not what you're looking for and it's sure not what you're gonna find."

"Um... I'll just have what he's having," Eli said, gesturing to Harding. "And uh, a steak."

"How d'you want it cooked?"

"Er..."

"You've got two options," Daisy said. "Papa leaves it bloody or gives you a brick."

Harding gently patted Eli on the back of the hand. "Give him the rare."

"Bloody it is. All right, then, that's everything? I trust you boys are all of age," Daisy said with a wink.

"Yes, ma'am," the table answered in unison. Abbey saluted with good form. 

"Good, good. I'll get right on top of all of that," Daisy said, and turned to walk off. Gilliam tried to reach out to give her a slap on her ass as she went, but, as if by reflex, Sumner kicked out underneath the table and hit Gilliam in the nuts.

"Holy shit," Gilliam wheezed, sounding like air being let out of a balloon. He let his forehead drop with a clatter onto the table as Housman and Abbey jeered like apes at his pain — but as soon as he recovered, Gilliam resumed craning his neck around to try to get a look at Daisy's tits again. 

It took quite a long time for Daisy to return with the group's orders. The food was _plainly_ shoddy, and the drinks couldn't be much better — Eli stared down at his basically raw slab of meat and tepid glass of alcohol and didn't want to put either in his mouth. But when Eli looked around the rest of the table and saw all the rest of the group eagerly partaking, he didn't want to look like a bitch.

Eli decided to try the scotch first. He had absolutely no idea what to expect, so he decided it was probably best to get it out of the way quickly. He brought the glass up to his lips and did his best to gulp it down.

God, it tasted like _shit_. Or, rather, burnt leather, which wasn't particularly far from the taste of shit. He wasn't expecting it to taste _that_ bad, and he'd taken so much of it into his mouth, and — oh god, he was going to _die_. It was a miracle that he managed to swallow it all and not retch all over the table.

Eli self-consciously looked to Harding, who, unfortunately, _had_ taken notice of Eli's struggle. He was wearing an amused grin on his face. "Not a scotch guy, huh?"

"Eugh, no," Eli groaned. "Do you want the rest of mine? This is awful."

Harding softly laughed and accepted the offered glass. "It's an acquired taste, I know," he said. "You drink much?"

Eli contemplated lying about it, but he honestly didn't think he could pull off the deceit. He sighed, and in a quiet voice, admitted, "Um... never."

"Oh, yeah... I guess you are really young, haha. I forget, sometimes," Harding said. "There's probably a better drink for you to start with than scotch. I doubt this place mixes really easy girly drinks, but... hm, you'd probably be able to choke down a rum and coke okay."

Eli was glad that Harding didn't belittle him for his inexperience. The rest of the table was caught up in some sort of ridiculous loud conversation that drowned out any interest in Eli's timid whisperings, so he escaped their mockery, too. "Okay," he said. "I'll try that."

Fortunately, the steak wasn't too bad. It was tough and a little cold, but Eli had certainly eaten worse. 

Samuel had gone completely unnoticed amidst the rest of the team's boisterous yelling. It took a good while after the first round of food and drinks arrived for anyone to realize that Samuel was still sitting silently with nothing to eat or drink. Even Eli missed it — Sumner was the first one to bother to try to help him out. "Oh no, did Daisy forget to take your order?" he asked, looking to Samuel.

Samuel just seemed surprised to even be addressed. "Oh, it's fine," he said.

"I can just call her back over so she can get you something," Sumner gently offered. Samuel tried to assure Sumner not to worry about it, but he was already flagging Daisy down. Daisy was across the room in moments.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I think you just forgot to take his order," Sumner said, gesturing to Samuel.

Daisy looked terribly contrite. "Oh no! I'm so sorry! What can I get you?"

"Water, please," Samuel said.

"Oh, and a rum and coke," Harding added on.

"And more for me and _Abbey Eight!_ " slurred Housman.

Housman and Abbey were somehow already fucking smashed. The both of them started giggling at Samuel's weak order the moment Daisy headed back off. Harding sighed, and attempted to show Samuel a modicum of compassion.

"Sorry we forgot about you, uh —" Harding paused as the embarrassing realization dawned upon him. "Oh god, I've just realized I honestly still have no clue what your name is."

Before Samuel could even open his mouth to supply the answer, Housman cut him off with a drunken bark of a laugh. "I don't know what his name is either!" he wheezed out between choking sniggers.

Johnson looked surprised, but amused. "Neither do I," he said.

Housman's grating laughter set off Abbey into a fit. "Oh my god. We've been playing with this kid for two months and _nobody_ knows what his name is?" Abbey said.

Housman was literally crying. Tears were streaming from his eyes. "Nobody — nobody knows? What the Asian kid's name is?" he sobbed. "What _is_ it? God, aren't there any fourth years?"

"Snake's the one only one here besides, inne?" Gilliam asked.

"I know what his name is," Eli confirmed.

Housman waved his hands emphatically. "No, no, you can't tell us. That doesn't count, you _live_ with him. Anybody? Anybody else?"

After a good while of everyone looking between each other, Sumner sheepishly spoke up. "I've never heard anyone call him anything but 'the Asian kid'."

And then the _guesses_ started coming. "Shit, I think I know," said Johnson. "What was it — Br... _Bruce?_ Bruce Something? Was that it?"

Abbey snorted beer out of his nose. "Like _Bruce Lee?_ " he said, cracking up so badly his composure was almost as shot as Housman's.

Johnson slapped himself on the forehead. "Bloody hell, you're right, that must've been who I was thinking of." He then transitioned smoothly to running his fingers through his beautiful head of hair.

"Don't get your fucking dandruff on me," recoiled Gilliam.

Eli looked at Samuel's face. He seemed pale and frozen and very small, as if the power of his will alone had managed to bend the laws of time and space to shrink himself into nothing in his seat. He had nothing to contribute to the din of Housman and Abbey's howling. Eli almost pitied him. "His name is Samuel," Eli said.

"Samuel? Really?" Page asked. He looked to Samuel with an earnest curiosity. "Have you got another name? From before you came from China?"

"They're not all _from_ China," Gilliam interjected, rolling his eyes. "Look at him, you can tell he's only half. He's got a white father, no doubt. He's _here,_ after all."

Eli couldn't get a word in edgewise. Whenever he tried to speak the other boys just loudly spoke over him. "Are you sure? Both Patel's parents are Indian and _I_ thought he was British until just last year," Page said. 

Gilliam started making another horrible farting sound with his lips. "You're a right fuckin' idiot, Page."

" _What!?_ What'd I say?"

"And this is _why_ Patel doesn't come to these things," Harding said mildly, sipping his drink.

And then things started getting weird. "God, Sammy, you're so pretty. Will you be my girlfriend?" Housman sobbed, practically falling over into Abbey's lap in his drunken discombobulation. Abbey feigned retching and pushed him off.

Eli's eyes widened. Did he really — was _Housman_ — Eli immediately looked to Samuel for a response, but he was as white and wordlessly petrified as ever.

Harding had kept quiet with a tight lipped smile for most of it all, but Housman's outburst seemed to push him over the edge of intervening. He tried to gently assure Samuel, "Don't worry about him, kid. Housman gets a little queer when he's in his cups."

Gilliam snorted. "He's had _two fucking beers,_ he's fucking faking."

As if attempting to prove Gilliam wrong, Housman embarked on a prodigious chug. Abbey, who would evidently follow Housman off a cliff if he jumped, went just as hard. Gilliam rolled his eyes and launched into a string of invective so casually delivered he may as well have been reading the weather report. "You fucking numpty pieces of shit. I absolutely _abhor_ the both of you. How do I even know you? Abbey, you obnoxious, sycophantic barnacle. Housman, you utterly vacant parody of a man. I'm so glad I'm graduating. I bet you'll end up in parliament."

Housman finished off his beer, slammed it down onto the table and answered in a cracking falsetto, "Love you too, Gilly." He then released a tremendous, malodorous belch that made Abbey start braying like a donkey.

"I've got to use the toilet," Samuel suddenly announced. As he was sat near directly in the center of the seating arrangement, it took a good deal of awkward maneuvering for Samuel to get up and out. Eli watched the back of him as he quietly escaped to the toilets.

Daisy came back around with the second round of drinks. She left the water by Samuel's seat, and handed Eli a modest glass of dark liquid with a lime stuck on the rim. The fruit had unappealing mold-like blotches on the rind, so he gingerly took it off the glass. He lifted it to take a sip, much more tentatively than the first time.

"What do you think?" Harding asked. He had his elbow on the table with his head propped up by his hand, and he was looking at Eli with an easy smile that made Eli's chest so tight he completely forgot what he'd even just tasted. He had to take another drink.

It... tasted mostly like an oddly shitty coke, really. "It's not bad," he said. He took another sip. It was certainly drinkable. He could drink this. "It's fine," he said.

Harding downed the rest of his scotch with inexplicable ease, and started finishing off Eli's. "Good to hear."

Eli was... glad. He felt warm, and nice. Was that the alcohol? He didn't know what to expect.

After a dreadful retching sound, the whole table watched in horror as Housman vomited directly onto Abbey's crotch.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my FUCKING god," Abbey shouted, his hands lifted over his head, staring shocked between his legs. "Housman barfed on my fucking cock!"

The party descended into chaos. In a bid to escape to the toilets, Abbey climbed over Housman, who was howling and crying, but once he tried getting over Gilliam, everything went to shit. Gilliam had _no_ interest in being covered in Housman's vomit, so he started yelling and pushing back, blocking Abbey from climbing out — he knocked into Johnson in the process, who scrambled desperately out of his seat. Without Johnson on his other side, Gilliam was knocked flat over the seats, and he started kicking like a man possessed.

Eventually, Abbey and Gilliam's flailings resulted in the table being upturned, the food and drinks all crashing onto Sumner and Page. Page started squealing as he was drenched in alcohol and chips and Sumner took a dive onto the ground that lead to him sliding across the floor on his drenched stomach. Harding and Eli sat stunned in the center of the booth, untouched.

"Wh — I —" gawked Harding as he surveyed the damage. It all happened so quickly. 

Naturally, it didn't take long for such a commotion to draw the attention of the other patrons of the pub. Daisy rushed over, screaming, and slipped in the expanding puddle of mixed drinks. Her skirts were soaked and ruined when she fell. The sound of scraping chairs filled the building as others rose to come over and gawk at the astounding tableau. 

Eventually, though, all the wailing caught the attention of the owner, who stormed up to the scene in a furious rage and began bellowing without restraint. "What the fuck is going on here?! Daisy!"

Daisy was desperately trying to hold her shirt together after it burst apart in her fall. She was crying. "I don't know what happened, papa!" 

"Get up, girl! Get up! We've got to clean up this damn mess! All of you, get up!"

Eli didn't really think about his reaction. On impulse, he grabbed Harding and dragged him along with him to escape the pub; they managed to slip out amidst all the confusion and yelling. 

Harding, caught unawares, gently yanked back against Eli's pull. "Wait, wait, we didn't even pay!" he exclaimed, but he was laughing, too, and he didn't pull back hard enough to stop him.

"None of that shit is our problem," Eli said. "Let's get _out_ of here."

The two of them quickly fled the scene of the crime, Eli leading blindly in whatever direction seemed sufficiently _away_. When he concluded that they were probably clear and safe, Eli stopped — and realized he had been _holding Harding's hand._ Shit. He quickly let go. Did Harding even _notice?_ Would he think that was weird? Eli felt himself burning up. "Um, I think no one's come after us," he said, looking nervously back down to where they came. 

If Harding cared, he made no note of it. "We really shouldn't have ditched them," he said, but he didn't look mad about it, or anything.

"Those kids are fucking annoying. They just scream and wreck everything they touch," Eli insisted, perhaps more intensely than he'd intended. 

Eli's excesses just seemed to amuse Harding. "Not a big fan of the pub crawl, are you?"

"No. I'd rather just do something with you." _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Eli was about to shit himself from how self-conscious he was about what he was saying, but Harding remained apparently oblivious. "I suppose a quieter night wouldn't be so bad," he concluded. 

Eli exhaled in relief. "Is... is there something you'd like to do?"

"Well, I'm already on my way there, so I'd like to finish getting drunk, if possible," Harding said. "Maybe there's a better bar or whatnot we can find closer to the square. "

"Okay. That sounds fine."

"Right, then. Shall we? Before the rest of the team catches us and strings us up by our traitorous necks."

Harding headed off down the way, and Eli followed along shortly behind him.

It was a nice night. The sky was clear, the air was crisp, and there was a nice chill that politely refrained from seeping past any clothing. It was good weather for moving about. Eli felt bizarrely content as he walked along with Harding, not paying much of any attention to anything.

"So, how are you liking being drunk so far?" Harding asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Eli wasn't even sure if he _was_ drunk. He didn't really feel particularly discombobulated, and his head was still clear. He did feel... nice, though. "I didn't have that much," he said.

"Well, with any luck, we'll fix that," Harding said. "I'm sure there's some place around here where we can find some good mixers. Get you something really fruity you can knock back until you're knocked out."

"I'm... not sure I want to go that far."

"Aw, everyone has got to get wasted at some point. No better time than the present."

Eventually, their ambling brought them to an establishment that seemed to catch Harding's interest. He pointed it out and lead Eli over.

This place seemed like a bit more of a modern bar, and certainly looked to be of better repute than _The Thirsty Mare._ It didn't smell like pig's shit, for one. Harding guided Eli around until he found some seating towards one of the the far ends of the building where he was unlikely to draw much attention. It was another booth arrangement, with more space than they probably warranted occupying, but the building wasn't particularly crowded. Harding instructed Eli to sit down and stay put while he went about breaking the law.

Eli watched nervously from the table as Harding fished his ID out of his wallet to show the bartender. He had to divert his eyes when Harding looked back to him and smiled. 

It didn't take long before Harding was back over with something for Eli to try. He handed over the glass, which Eli received suspiciously. "What's this?" Eli asked.

"It's a margarita. Tequila, triple sec and lime, basically. It should be easy enough for a baby to drink," Harding said, sliding into his seat. Harding just had more scotch for himself; he knew what he liked. But he chose to sit directly next to Eli even though he didn't have to, which Eli thought was a bit weird.

Eli sniffed the drink before him. It looked and smelled kind of like lemonade. Harding was watching him expectantly. "Go on, try it. Careful, though, the alcohol is going to be a bit stronger than the rum and coke."

Eli picked up the glass and tentatively brought it to his lips to draw a small sip. The salt on the rim surprised him, but it... was pretty all right, he concluded. It had a strong tangy taste, mostly of lime — it wasn't like he couldn't taste the alcohol at all, but the taste wasn't nearly as revolting as the scotch had been. Upon the second attempt, he thought he might even... _like_ it.

"This is... good," he said, sounding almost surprised.

Harding looked unusually glad about it. "Good. Then you won't have any trouble getting pickled."

Eli took another small drink. "I... guess not," he said. 

Harding appeared perfectly content to sit watching Eli as he made very slow but deliberate work through his glass — it seemed like Harding was already a fair bit drunker than Eli, which wasn't surprising — but Eli started feeling a little self-conscious. In an effort to fill the silence, he said, "I don't think you've ever told me your given name."

Harding laughed. "Yeah, I haven't."

Eli waited for Harding to continue on, but he didn't. So, he said, "Well... what is it?"

"Oh, god," Harding said, letting his head fall back against the upholstery of the booth. "It's, uh... Moses."

Eli immediately snorted. " _Moses?_ "

"Like you're fucking one to talk, _Eli._ "

Eli never used physical violence as a _joke_. When he hit someone, he _meant_ it — but that clearly wasn't the case with the rugby team, whom he regularly witnessed pummelling each other in what _seemed_ like the spirit of friendship. So, in a lapse of judgment, he figured that the appropriate thing to do would be to punch Harding in the shoulder. He just... kind of forgot not to make it hurt.

"Holy shit," Harding exclaimed, reeling from the unexpected blow. He started rubbing the spot where Eli'd hit. "Jesus, mate, you fucking annihilated me. Have you been lifting weights?"

Eli was momentarily horrified, but Harding started laughing anyway. "S-sorry," Eli stammered, which only made Harding laugh harder. 

"Oh my god, you're a piece of work, you know that?"

"Yeah," Eli meekly answered, and took a drink.

Harding managed to begin choking on his own spit, which he also seemed to find very amusing. He was just sort of falling apart at the seams. Eli watched with an uncomfortable fixation. It took a while for Harding to collect himself, but when he did, he tried to pick up where they'd left off. "Okay, so my name, right — seriously, you can't tell anyone about this, right? So, my dad's a Catholic, but my mum — she's, you know, Muslim, err — I mean, I'm obviously not very religious, I go to Catholic school." He laughed, a little nervously. "But my parents both are... like, _really_ devout."

"How does _that_ work?"

Harding furrowed his eyebrows. "I think at some point they just both agreed to stop being religious when they're in the same room together? It's weird, but they've been together 25 years, so I guess it works. For them, anyway. Little weirder for me. I had to do fucking Ramadan _and_ Lent. But anyway, yeah, they jointly decided to give me the most embarrassingly religious name possible and I got fucking _Moses Mohammed._ I went by fucking _Mo-Mo_ — I'm not kidding! — until the other kids figured out about, you know — well, you saw how it is."

After the spat with Samuel at the table, Eli wasn't especially surprised that Harding didn't want anyone to know about his mother. He'd always been utterly perplexed by the dynamics of racial strife in England — they certainly did not appear to be based upon any of the facts about the races he'd observed in his time living amongst various cultures — but it was hard not to feel pity for everyone wrapped up in it. "Why do you just _put up with it?_ " Eli asked. "Why don't you make them stop?"

Harding laughed, and reached out to swirl the contents of his glass with a dry grin. "Why would I bother wasting my time arguing with every racist idiot I meet, which, by the way, is literally everyone, when I can just be one of them instead?"

Eli wasn't sure what to say. "That seems... uh... bad."

"A little," Harding sighed, letting himself sink down into his seat. "One of these days I'll change my name to fucking... I don't know, _Jerry,_ and be done with it all."

The conversation left Eli with other curiosities. If Harding's parents were that religious, wouldn't that have rubbed off on him? "But you're not religious, not at all?" he asked.

"Haha. Let's just say... my parents would be _very_ disappointed in me," Harding said, sipping his drink for emphasis. When he looked back to Eli, he produced a dark smile that made something in Eli's stomach flip. "Their little boy is _quite_ the sinner."

"Oh, y-yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," Harding echoed. "Drinking, swearing, _premarital sex_ — I even wear mixed fabrics and eat pork."

Eli felt his heart beating in his throat. "How do you even manage to have sex, when you go _here?_ "

Harding laughed, leaning back into his seat at the booth. Eli felt their proximity particularly acutely now. "There are _ways,_ " Harding intoned.

Did he mean — did he _mean_ —

But before Eli could muster the courage to ask, Harding said, "So, why do you hate _your_ name?"

Eli felt like the rug had just been pulled out from underneath him. He was so caught up in his own head that the only response he could muster was, "M-my name?"

"Yeah."

Eli looked away, trying to get a fucking _handle_ on himself. He took a drink and realized he'd already finished it. _Shit._ "I don't... I don't hate my name," he said.

"I heard from the other fourthers you even demand the _teachers_ call you Snake."

Honestly, Eli had never really _thought_ about why he didn't want people to call him by his name. Using an assumed name was simply something he began doing, and it never occurred to him to really examine it. It just seemed weird for the people beneath him to call him his real name. "I want people to know that I'm different from them," he decided, when that seemed like good explanation enough.

"Huh."

"But... I don't _hate_ it. It's... fine, I guess." He looked back to Harding. "I... I wouldn't mind if _you_ called me Eli."

"Haha, really?" Harding said. His face lit up with a bright grin and for an instant it was so overwhelming that Eli had to break eye contact. 

Eli had no idea how to feel about how he was feeling, or really much understanding at all of what that was in the first place. His entire body felt light, but also faint and fragile; it was like nervous jitters, like shaking without shaking, and he felt warm and content but also like none of it was quite enough and he wasn't sure what he even needed to satiate the longing. It was a little bit scary, but it felt good, too. 

Eli wet his dry lips as he stared at Harding's. "Yeah... yeah, that would be fine," he said, transfixed by the shifting reflections glistening in the moisture of Harding's lower lip. "Because... I guess... I... like you."

"Ha! Okay... _Eli,_ " Harding said, reaching out with a grin to sling a friendly arm around Eli's shoulders.

Eli immediately stiffened in shock. He didn't know how to react to that kind of attention, least of all from _Harding_ — Eli didn't much like being touched, but this was different. Where Harding's skin pressed against the back of his neck, where the tips of his fingers ghosted over his arm, where Harding's chest touched his through the thin fabric of his shirt — it didn't create an unwanted sensation, far from it. Eli looked around wildly for a cue, but no one was paying any attention to them.

Harding's face was so close. Eli turned his head to look at him, and froze in his captivating gaze.

The thought felt fucking ridiculous the moment it entered his head, but Harding really did have beautiful eyes. There was no other way to describe them. They were so dark that they were almost black, but this close, even in the dim light of the bar, Eli could make out the subtle shift of color from his dilated pupils into the rich red-brown of his irises. Half lidded, framed by long and thick lashes and softened only in intensity by his earnest smile, they created an inexorable pull. Eli wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to escape it. 

Harding, though, seemed mostly oblivious to the cause of Eli's petrification. The sudden sound of his voice was shattering, like an alarm cutting through to a deep sleep. "Oh my god, am I _embarrassing_ you? Your face looks like a lobster, hahaha."

Eli self-consciously pushed Harding away, under the guise of further playful rough-housing. He regretted the decision immediately. But there was no way to say _no, wait, touch me again,_ and he certainly didn't have the fucking guts to touch Harding himself. 

For the first time, Eli realized there was a chance he might... possibly... be a little gay.

He looked Harding in the face again and wanted to die. Eli was suddenly overwhelmed with how badly he wanted to kiss him, and more, too, when he contemplated how it might feel to have Harding push him down and pin him to the seating of the booth with the weight of his warm body, to feel Harding's hand to run up beneath his shirt as he pressed his lips to his neck —

Eli was _definitely_ drunk and he was getting an erection and he was going to do something incredibly stupid unless he removed himself from the premises immediately. So he wasn't entirely thinking straight when he suddenly lurched up out of his seat and started staggering for the door, disoriented much more from his own anxiety than any physical impairment, bumping into empty tables and chairs on his way out. Harding called his name — Eli — and chased after him, laughing.

Eli hadn't felt particularly sick — maybe it was just nerves — but before he knew it he was on his hands and knees on the path outside puking up his guts. It splattered the back of his hands, hot and sickly, and ran through the gaps in the cobblestones in snaking rivulets. When Harding caught up, Eli said, "I think I just — drank too fast —" 

"You all right?" Harding asked, coming to squat beside Eli with a hand on his back.

Eli gave a final retch, and then shakily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He realized belatedly that he had vomit on _that,_ too, which only made the issue worse — he groaned and wiped it on his sleeve, and then he sat back on his knees, drawing the cold air in through his mouth and down his burning throat. His mind felt a little clearer. Harding's fingers rubbing circles on his back felt good. "Yeah," he said, and maybe for the first time in years, it felt true. "What time is it?"

Harding gave a small smile, and looked to his dingy watch. Said smile immediately fell off his face. "Oh shit," he said.

"What? What is it?"

"Well, uh. Apparently, the bus left five minutes ago."

Eli's head was reeling. "What? How the fuck has it been three hours already?"

"Time flies when you're obliterating your internal organs, I guess."

"Ugh," Eli groaned. When Harding stood and offered Eli a hand, he took it and pulled himself up. "What are we going to do?"

Harding glanced around. "Well, er. I believe it's about a two hour walk back."

Eli still didn't feel _that_ drunk, but Harding was swaying, and Eli had to catch him from falling. That wasn't that great of an arrangement, because Eli was so surprised he almost collapsed. "We're... we're not walking two hours back," he stammered, trying to put Harding back up on his feet. 

"No, we sure fucking aren't," Harding laughed.

"What are we going to do? Will someone come looking for us?"

"Dunno," Harding said, stumbling as he tried to walk forward. "Whew. I'm surprised I'm this drunk already."

"Are you okay?" Eli asked, nervously hovering alongside.

"It's not too bad. This would go easier if you'd help me out, though."

Eli felt a little dumb. He moved closer to let Harding lean on him, and Harding gratefully accepted the support. Eli helped him move along, listening to his directions whenever he decided he wanted to turn.

"Ah, right here. This is good," Harding proclaimed, once they reached the town square.

Eli looked around. "What are we going to do here?" He was a bit startled when Harding pushed off of his support and then suddenly began to lie down in the square. "What are you _doing?_ " Eli asked, staring down at Harding incredulously.

Harding smiled back up at him pleasantly. "Lying down in the square, 'til the coppers come to take us away."

"What?"

Harding outstretched his arms. "Come! Come! Join me in my indignity!"

Well, Eli couldn't really field much of an argument, so he acquiesced to Harding's demands and set himself down beside him. The few people passing through the square gave them a number of strange looks, but Harding was clearly too drunk to care.

Eli stared up above them. It was oddly light out for how dark it was; the sky was a vibrant deep blue, unmarred by cloud, and the moon was brighter than he'd ever seen it. But the light of the moon couldn't hold his interest; he found himself looking back at Harding before long.

Harding was lying contentedly, a hand over his chest, as he studied the moon with a transfixed stare. Eli wondered what he was thinking about. Did Harding think about him the way he thought about Harding? Eli wanted to think that Harding liked him, but he was so unsure. The prospect of finding out was so daunting.

"Hey, Harding," Eli said, his voice lowered to a whisper.

Harding turned his head. His face was filled with a warm redness, and his eyes glinted brightly in the moonlight. Eli loved to look at him. "Huh?" Harding asked.

Eli thought about saying something, but it was difficult to find the words or the courage. The alcohol in his system was probably the only reason he hadn't already run away. His heart was beating quickly in his chest. "I —"

Before Eli could make a fool of himself, he was interrupted by the searing light suddenly being flashed in his face. "Fuck!" he yelled, startled.

"What are you kids doing?" said the man with torch. Eli couldn't see the man's face from where he was lying, so he sat up, but that didn't help much.

Harding was shielding his face with his arm, but made no move to get up. "Just catching some winks in the square, officer. No harm intended. Would you mind doing me a solid and shutting that thing off?"

The man — a police officer, apparently — completely ignored Harding's polite request. "Are you two the boys missing from St. Francis?"

After accepting that the cop was not going to turn off the light, Harding just serenely closed his eyes. "We sure are."

What made this asshole so surly? In an irritated voice, the cop commanded, "Come on, get up."

Eli started to pull himself up, but Harding had trouble. "Eli, hold up," he said.

Eli felt weird hearing his name in Harding's mouth. He swallowed a mouthful of spit and reached out to offer Harding a hand. Harding took it, and pulled himself up to stand. "Thanks," he said.

The police officer finally fucking stopped flashing them in the eyes. "Why didn't you two make it back to school with the rest of the students?"

Harding fashioned an earnest smile for the cop's benefit. "We lost track of time and missed our bus, officer," he said, affecting as posh an accent as he could muster. "We just waited around here, since we figured you fine, upstanding men of the law would track us down in no time, to whisk us back away to our wonderful home."

It didn't take long looking at or listening to the both of them for the officer to catch on to their state of inebriation. "Are you two boys _drunk?_ "

"No sir," Harding insisted, clearly drunk. 

When Harding stumbled, he tried to pass it off like he was leaning over to put his arm around Eli's shoulders in a friendly embrace. Eli was too flustered by the sensation of Harding's weight leaning against him to say anything. 

The stern police officer crossed his arms. Harding was legal, but Eli clearly wasn't — the officer seemed to assume they both weren't. "What drinking establishment served you two liquor illegally?"

Eli had to put his arm somewhere, so he tentatively let his hand rest on Harding's waist. Harding felt very solid and warm beneath his fingers. Eli prayed he wouldn't get a boner in front of the cop.

"Absolutely nowhere, sir. There's not a pub in this town that would defile a couple of good, proper Catholic school boys like us, sir," Harding said. 

Eli felt like he was going to retch again.

The cop shook his head and sighed. "Just come along, I'll drive you on down to the school."

Eli kept Harding supported as they shuffled along behind the officer on the way over to the police station. It was very small, and not a far walk from the square. It looked like they only had the one squad car, so this was probably a pretty good time for someone to go and do a crime.

The cop brought them into the station to make a brief report, and the officer staffing the desk made a call to the school to let them know that the missing children had been found. "You know, I'm actually an adult now," Harding said. "Haha, who the fuck allowed that?"

"Yeah, yeah. Get in the car."

The officer shoved the both of them into the back of the squad car like a couple of criminals, which seemed to greatly amuse Harding. "I can't wait to call my father and tell him I've finally gone and got knocked up."

Eli blanched. "What?"

As the car lurched into motion, Harding echoed back, "What?"

"You just said 'knocked up'."

"What, did I?"

"... Yeah."

Harding let out a noise somewhere between a snort and a wheeze and started laughing. "God, I'm not even that drunk."

"You seem pretty drunk," Eli said.

Harding gestured with his forefinger and thumb to demonstrate how drunk he was. "Just a little bit. Just a bit. I'm sobering up now, I am." He let himself slide down on the upholstery of the cop car's back seats. "Ahh, I feel good."

Eli looked out the window. The car was rolling gently down the road up to the school, its high beams cutting a path through the complete darkness of the woods. He definitely wouldn't have wanted to walk back all this way in the dead of night. The only sound apart from the rush of air around the vehicle was the occasional hoot of an owl.

"I had a good time tonight, even if we're in a cop car now," Eli remarked. 

When Harding didn't answer, Eli looked over and found that he was fucking asleep. Jesus Christ.

Eli spent the rest of the ride home openly staring at Harding's face as he dozed.

The cop parked safely in the car park once they arrived, and walked around to let the two of them out. He had to shake Harding awake, which caused Harding to shout in surprise. The cop, in turn, was so surprised by Harding's surprise that he hit his head on the top of the inside of the car and nearly collapsed onto the back seat in pain. Harding, very confused and not particularly enthused to have a police office in his lap, apologized profusely. Eli just slipped out and watched awkwardly as the officer stumbled out of his own vehicle, rubbing his head.

Eventually, the cop and Harding seemed to return to their senses well enough to walk, so the cop was able to escort them up to the dorms. Once they'd been let back inside, they were given a very stern lecture by the housemaster about their irresponsibility that Eli completely tuned out and Harding just smiled and nodded his way through. How he didn't notice that they were drunk was beyond Eli's comprehension.

Finally released, Eli helped Harding make it up the stairs. Eli's room was on the third floor, but he had substantially better motor control, so he stayed with Harding to make sure he made it back to his room all right.

"Well... here's your room," Eli said, standing a bit awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

"Yep. Thanks for the help," Harding said. He fumbled with his keys to unlock the door to his room; Eli eventually ended up doing it for him. "Haha, I can tell this hangover is going to suck. Anyway, see you around."

Eli watched with a sense of longing as Harding let himself inside his room and shut the door behind him. Should he have... said something? Eli didn't even know what he could have said. He drew a rattling breath and tried to push the anxiety down as turned and made his way down to his own room. 

Samuel was sat up their room on his bed, scratching something into a notebook. He actually looked a bit startled when Eli opened up the door. "Hi," Eli groggily greeted him.

"Hi," Samuel simply echoed, and resumed whatever he was writing. "You're back late."

"Yeah," Eli said, carrying himself over to collapse onto his bed. He honestly was exhausted. "Did nobody notice me and Harding missed the bus?"

Samuel was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. I didn't take the bus back."

"What? Then how did you get back?"

"I just walked."

Samuel was truly just an incredulous human being. Eli turned his head to give him a disbelieving look. "Isn't that like, a two hour walk in the dark?" 

"It wasn't so bad," Samuel said, shrugging.

Samuel returned to his writing, evidently uninterested in further conversation. It was just as well; Eli fell asleep just as soon as he closed his eyes.


	12. Burning Up

**23 November, 1987. Ocelot's Office.**

"What do you do if you think you might like someone?" Eli blurted out.

It was probably the first time that Eli had actually used his counseling time with Ocelot to seek _advice_ — the question seemed to come as a surprise to both of them, and the smile that Ocelot adopted made Eli regret even asking. "Do you think that you like someone, Eli?" Ocelot asked.

"Don't — don't fucking _tease_ me," Eli said, raising his shoulders defensively.

Ocelot lifted his eyebrows. "I was doing no such thing," he insisted. "Well — do you?"

"... Maybe," Eli cagily answered.

When Eli was no more forthcoming with the details, Ocelot sighed and reluctantly relented to the clear invitation to 20 questions. "Is it another student?"

Eli's lip immediately curled into a sneer. "Yeah," he snapped. "Who the fuck did you think I was talking about? _You?_ "

Ocelot released a soft laugh. "I know who you're talking about, Eli. I was actually trying to _avoid_ embarrassing you."

Eli grit his teeth and shoved down his self-consciousness as best he could, but it wasn't an easy feat. Even when Ocelot was saying nothing at all, it felt like he was being mocked. He really wished he had anyone else to talk to about this. "Whatever," he mumbled. "I'm not _gay._ "

"Eli, literally no one has ever said that you are gay. I know that you are not gay."

"But — if there's a chance I might like — a _boy_ —"

"That doesn't mean that you are gay," Ocelot said, using a tone that one would normally reserve for lecturing an exasperating toddler. "We've had this discussion before. Multiple times, even. You are bisexual."

Eli deflated. "I don't _want_ to like boys."

Ocelot tilted his head to the side and quirked his lips into a weary smile. "You don't get to have much of a say in that, unfortunately."

"It's fucking — fucking —" Eli fumbled for a word to describe it, and all he could come up with was, " _Annoying._ "

"You're not wrong," Ocelot laughed. When the office fell back into silence, Ocelot said, "So... Harding."

Eli sighed and occupied his hands with rubbing at the corner of his eye. He couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"I've seen him around," Ocelot idly commented. "He's not bad looking, I guess. He's one of the upper sixth students, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Eli said.

"A little old for you, maybe."

Eli furrowed his brow in annoyance. "You're not my fucking _father._ It doesn't matter how old he is."

"It matters to your considerations about what you intend to do about your feelings for him, given that he's going to graduate and leave in less than nine months," Ocelot said, raising an eyebrow.

Eli hadn't even thought about that. It was startlingly miserable to contemplate — He was constantly being surprised by the inexplicable intensity of his emotions. It dropped like lead into his stomach.

Nine months was a long ways away, but it didn't feel very far when he thought about Harding. Eli didn't intend to enter sixth form anyway, though, so if he was only stuck at St. Francis for another year after that, maybe...

When Eli didn't seem to know how to respond, Ocelot asked, "What do you want from him?"

"... I don't know," Eli answered, honestly. It was a difficult issue to quantify, and Eli didn't understand the first thing about why he was attracted to Harding. It wasn't like they had particularly much in common. When he really thought about it, the prospect of them having anything together was completely ridiculous. But even still, he couldn't help but —

"Do you want a relationship with him, or do you just want to have sex with him?"

That kind of utterly direct question came as a surprise. Eli felt himself burning up. "I — I —" he choked. He felt so humiliated even thinking about the question. "I don't know. I don't know if I want — maybe I just —" He artlessly stumbled over himself. "Maybe I just want him to like me."

" _Does_ he like you?"

Eli frowned. "I don't know... Sometimes I think — I don't know. Maybe."

When it came down to it, Harding didn't _know_ him. And he _couldn't_ know him. Eli knew well enough that someone so fucking _normal_ would never want anything to do with the person he really was — and while this had certainly never bothered Eli before, it felt strange now. Could he keep _hiding_ himself? Would it even be worth it?

Ocelot rested his chin in his hand and looked to Eli with a tiring gaze. "Has he ever said or done anything to indicate that he may be romantically or sexually interested in you?" he asked, completely deadpan.

Eli thought about it. There were a _lot_ of things that made Eli think Harding liked him, but when he tried to pare it down to just the ones he'd never seen Harding do to any of the _other_ boys, it got much harder to say. "He's done some things that sound kind of gay. But I don't know if they were actually gay."

"Like what?"

The thought of recounting any of them made Eli want to crawl into a hole and fucking die. "Uh... he touches me a lot. He's nice to me, and he spent a lot of time training me to take Barker's place after he got injured. And there was this one time he said..."

"Well? What did he say?"

"When I asked him how he managed to have sex while going to an all boys boarding school he just said — _'there are ways'_."

"Well, that does sound a little gay," Ocelot agreed.

Eli was immensely relieved to hear it wasn't all in his head. "Yeah. But if he _is_ — you know, _gay_ — I don't know. I think there might be a chance he and Barker are already..."

"Barker? The kid who broke his leg?"

"Yeah," Eli said. "Even though Barker is useless at rugby now, Harding still seems to... _care_ about him. And with everything he's said to me, maybe they're..."

Just the prospect of _saying it out loud_ was insurmountable. He worried that saying it might make it real.

"That doesn't necessarily mean it's not worth telling him how you feel. Another man is just an obstacle," Ocelot said. " _Have_ you told him?"

"I... I kind of told him," Eli said. "I said that I liked him. But I think he thought I just meant... I don't know what he thought. He didn't really react to it."

"Hm."

Eli didn't like the sound of that. "Do you think I should... do something?"

"Maybe."

"That's not fucking helpful," Eli snorted.

Ocelot smiled easily, and leaned back into his chair with his hands carefully folded in his lap. "It's up to you to decide whether or not you think it's worth it."

"But I don't _know_ whether or not it's worth it," Eli said. "That's why I'm asking you. An adult, who knows."

Ocelot laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Eli, I don't know the answer to that any better than you do."

"What the fuck is the point of you?"

Ocelot shrugged.

"Ugh," Eli groaned, kicking his feet in his chair. "This is stupid. I _feel_ stupid. This is — _annoying_. A _distraction._ I don't even want to _think_ about this stuff."

"Well, I suppose having a relationship could be fulfilling," Ocelot speculated, as if he were considering some sort of abstract hypothetical. "You're still young."

"What if it doesn't work out?"

Ocelot took a moment to think about it carefully. "Maybe you'll be upset at first. But that doesn't mean it'll be a bad experience to have had, in the end."

It all seemed like such a waste of time. Eli couldn't help but worry all the same. "And — but — what are you supposed to do if you get turned down?"

Ocelot smiled. "I'll let you know when I find out," he said.

 

***

 

**2 December, 1987. The gym.**

It was the day of the penultimate game of the season and Wolf had a considerable amount of ground to cover if it had any hope of besting Stag and taking home the cup.

Stag had just finished up its last game before its final rematch with Wolf, firmly securing its lead at 331 points. Wolf was lagging behind at 273, but with one game left to play, it was certainly possible for them to close the gap prior to facing Stag themselves — they would just have to utterly demolish Ram.

Only Hawk fielded even a conceivable threat to a Stag or Wolf victory, but they would have to pull at least 70 points a game to do it — no one thought it especially likely that they would _really_ manage it in the end. Bear, Ram and Lion were left so far behind in points that they were not even worth entertaining as competitors any longer.

The team was gathered in the Wolf locker room prior to the night's match to go over strategy. Eli was strangely anxious, given how secure they were in their victory. He really had nothing to worry about against Ram; they'd had no trouble scoring a considerable margin in their first match against the team. Of course, he had other things on his mind.

At some point, Eli concluded that he was going to _tell_ Harding. He hadn't figured out how he was going to do it or when, but he couldn't stand fucking _stewing_ in his own ludicrous pining any longer. Eli had come up with dozens of reasons why Harding might not want to make the first move — Maybe Harding though Eli was too young. Maybe he didn't want to take advantage of a junior team member. Maybe he didn't want to start something in his last year. Maybe he just didn't know he was gay yet. Maybe he and Barker — 

Whatever the reason was, Eli needed to rip the fucking band-aid off. He spent too much of his time waiting around for an opportunity he wasn't sure how he would recognize when it came, and it was eating into his ability to focus. 

Eli had almost entirely tuned out Harding's pre-game lecture. He only snapped back to attention when Harding was almost done.

"... but I think we can afford to be pretty reckless against Ram," Eli caught Harding saying. "Our goal, first and foremost, is to rack up whatever amount of points that we can. Don't do anything _completely_ stupid, obviously, but if you have a choice between pushing and scoring and playing it safe, then —"

Of all the people Eli expected to burst into through the doors to the locker room, Barker was probably the absolute last. His presence, obviously, came as a great shock to the team, Harding most of all.

Barker honestly looked to be on drugs. His eyes were horribly bloodshot, and he limped forward unsteadily without the aid of his crutches. There was no way this kid could have deluded himself into thinking he could play otherwise. 

"What the fuck? Barker?" exclaimed Gilliam.

Before Barker could explain his sudden appearance, Harding whipped around and was herding Barker out of the locker room. When some of the boys tried to follow out of curiosity, Harding snapped, "Stay back inside!"

Naturally, the team ostensibly heeded Harding's command, but crowded around the door to peer through the crack and eavesdrop. Eli rudely pushed his way up to the front so he could listen in on their conversation, his heart beating far too quickly for his liking.

"What are you doing here?" Harding demanded, sounding almost _angry._

"I'm here to play," Barker said, as if it were obvious. "I just got my cast off, so I'm —"

"Are you _high?_ " Harding asked. His tone was completely disbelieving.

Barker rubbed at his nose with his arm, sniffling loudly. "No. I'm here to fucking play rugby."

Barker _did_ have his cast off, but he was still wearing a splint. He looked much thinner than Eli remembered. 

Harding didn't seem to know what to do with Barker. He sighed, and then turned around, a hand to his forehead. "You aren't fully healed yet. You know that."

"I can take the splint off for long enough to play a game. I can run. It's fine," Barker insisted. "I'm fine. I'm fine now. Let me fucking play. I need to get back in shape. I need to play this game or I won't be ready for St—"

"You're not playing in the Stag game, Barker."

Barker seemed stunned by this incredibly obvious statement. "What?" he said, in a small voice. "You said —"

Harding turned back to face Barker. "I said you could play in the Stag game when I was afraid you were like to _kill_ yourself if I didn't," Harding said, moving forward to support Barker by his shoulders when he swayed. "But you aren't ready yet, and you won't be by next week. Look at you."

Harding evidently wasn't expecting for Barker's legs to give way, and the both of them came down to their knees. Harding sighed. "It's going to be all right, Scott," he said.

"No it's not," Barker said. "I'm fucking crippled, Harding. Don't you get it? I'm never going to fucking play rugby again, let _alone_ recover in time to face Aleis—"

"Don't worry about that. We'll beat him."

"What's the point? It won't even matter if it's not me. This isn't my team anymore. I lost the moment I fell off the fucking stacks."

Harding didn't seem to know what else to say. There weren't many sincere assurances for him to give. Instead, he just pulled Barker into a hug. 

Barker pressed his face into Harding's shoulder and drew a shaking breath. Eli felt himself burning as he watched Harding gently stroke the back of Barker's head and neck. "My leg still hurts," Barker mumbled.

"I know it does," Harding said. "But you're going to get better. And York is going to lose, no matter what else happens."

Eli couldn't watch them any longer, so he pulled away from the door and moved back to the center of the locker room to exhale his held breath and pace. He hated this feeling. It was awful. He felt awful. Why did looking at Barker make him so angry? He wasn't just angry, he was —

God, he was fucking _jealous._

The realization was humiliating. Eli couldn't stand harboring such a weakness. Obviously, Eli had coveted Barker's status and position on the team, but that was an ambition of power — these fucking _feelings_ he had for Harding were nothing but a liability. He was useless like this. He needed to do something to _fix_ it, and fast.

Maybe he could just ask Harding if he and Barker were together. It would be a good way to figure out whether or not Harding was gay without necessarily implicating himself, but — if they _were_ together, was Eli going to let that stop him? Maybe it was better to assume that they were, and do whatever he could to win Harding over —

He should have had Samuel fucking kill Barker. 

He thought about doing it, even now. It wasn't completely out of the question. It would be a whole lot of trouble to do it without anyone finding out, but if it turned out that the thing between him and Harding really was Barker, it might be worth it. It might even make Harding more vulnerable. If Harding were upset, and needed someone to comfort him —

Before long, Harding reapproached the doors to the locker room and the team scattered to disguise the fact they'd all been eavesdropping. Harding walked back into the room, alone.

"What was Barker doing here?" Housman asked.

"He's not feeling well," is all Harding would say.

There was nothing else for the team to do but to leave their curiosity and gossiping for later. The team rallied up, finished its final preparations, and made its way out onto the field. Eli was readying himself in more ways than one.

 

***

 

Eli scored the final try of the game with seconds left on the clock, securing Wolf a 42-12 victory over Ram.

He climbed to his feet, his legs burning and chest heaving from shortness of breath, as the crowd in the stands rallied for the Wolf victory. They weren't just cheering for Eli today — they were cheering for what this meant for next week.

The score of the game brought them within 16 points of Stag. They truly had a very good chance of winning now. As long as they could beat Stag by a respectable margin, they would take home the final victory of the term _and_ the tournament cup. The crowd did love an underdog. 

The team descended on Eli like a mob, yelling and shouting in celebration of their victory. The longer Eli spent on the team, the wilder the boys seemed to get with him, no matter how openly he disdained their touch. He ducked when Gilliam tried to muss up his hair. He deftly dodged when Abbey went in for a hug. Housman came over and kissed Eli on the forehead, so Eli slammed him into the grass. Housman just laughed and took it as an opportunity to enjoy a bit of rolling around.

When Harding turned to him with a broad grin and outstretched arms, though, Eli didn't resist. "I love you, kid," Harding laughed as he roughly slapped Eli on the back, and Eli felt all of the breath go out of him. 

_Shit._

Eli couldn't even move when Harding released him. He barely registered anything else the rest of the team was shouting as they swarmed around him congratulating each other on a job well done. He kept staring at Harding, nearly slack jawed and completely stunned —

Obviously Harding hadn't _meant_ it. Not that way. At least, he hadn't meant for Eli to _think_ that he meant it that way. Had he? Or was he saying what he really thought, but in the form of a joke, assuming that Eli wouldn't make a big deal about it? It wasn't out of the question. Maybe he could — _shit._

The team was gathering up to move on to the locker rooms and Eli was so wired he worried his heart might burst in his chest. He was emboldened and a little terrified but in a fit of madness or maybe just courage, he made up his mind about what he was going to do.

Eli's head was swimming from the rush. Just as they passed between the stands, he grabbed Harding by the wrist and hauled him off to the side beneath the seating.

Naturally, Harding was a bit startled. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting you away from the crowd," Eli said. Harding had no idea where he was being led, but he went along laughing anyway.

Their sudden departure seemed to have gone unnoticed by the rushing team. When Eli was sure they'd gone far enough and been forgotten, Eli pushed Harding up against one of the support beams beneath the stands and kissed him on the mouth.

Harding's reaction was instantaneous and explosive. Eli, caught completely off guard, stumbled to the ground when he was pushed, and floundered dumbfounded where he fell. Harding stared down at him, eyes wide and chest heaving, and breathed, "What the _fuck,_ Eli?"

_Shit._

At once, the jubilant mood was cut off at the head. The distant sounds of cheering and yelling seemed to belong to a different life. Color filled Eli's face as the humiliating realization took hold. "I just — I thought —"

"What the fuck," Harding repeated, eyes wide, hand to his forehead, and began to pace. "God, you thought — you thought I was _gay?_ "

Well, there weren't many other ways to put it. "Um... yeah," Eli answered.

Just a minute ago they'd been laughing and clinging to each other like brothers and now Harding was staring down at Eli as if he were a piece of rotted garbage. "Well, I'm not. I'm not gay."

"I'm not gay either," Eli reflexively responded.

Harding burst into laughter. "Of course you're not. You just _kissed me_ for _no reason._ "

"I'm not _gay,_ " Eli said. God, he sounded like an idiot, didn't he? It was true, but it sounded like a lie. It felt like a fucking lie. And Eli didn't want to ruin his chances, if there even still were any, with humiliated backpedalling. So it was with a shaking voice he added, "But maybe — maybe I like _you,_ a little."

"Shit," Harding cursed. He was back to pacing. 

At first Eli was embarrassed, but now he was growing angry. "And I thought _you_ liked _me._ You're always fucking — fucking _touching_ me, and — fucking talking to me about my cock in the locker room? What was I _supposed_ to think?"

Harding stopped again. This time, he looked flustered and distressed. "That's just — that's just what we _do._ I do that with all the boys — we all do — I —"

Eli pulled himself to his feet. "You just fucking told me you _loved_ me," he spat.

Honestly, at this point, Harding looked more upset than Eli did. He obviously didn't know what to say or how to react to any of this. "I — I wouldn't have said it if I'd known I was saying it to a fucking _gay boy!_ "

"I'm not fucking gay, Harding!" Eli practically shouted.

Harding jumped, casting his gaze wildly around. "Keep your fucking _voice_ down, what if someone _hears_ you? Jesus Christ!"

"I don't _give_ a shit," Eli said, and almost surprised himself when he realized it was even true. "I don't care about what those fucking rats think about me. Why do you?"

Harding wiped his palm down his face. His hand was visibly shaking. "Eli, it's not about that —"

"Don't fucking call me Eli."

"Look, if you — if you — _feel_ that way about men or — or _whatever_ — I don't _care,_ " Harding said. "I'm not going to tell anyone, or — but I — God, I don't want to _fuck_ you." He couldn't disguise his visceral personal disgust, let alone reconcile it with his desire to be kind. He looked miserable, but it didn't lessen how worthless it made Eli feel.

Of all the reactions Eli had expected, somehow, this was worse than anything he could have imagined. He'd been so sure that Harding was at _least_ gay, even if Harding didn't have any feelings for him. He felt so fucking stupid. 

Eli stared at Harding's lips. It was difficult to meet his eyes. "What now, then?"

Harding forced an empty laugh and rubbed at his mouth nervously. "Yeah, that's the question. None of my friends have ever wanted to — so I don't know how to, uh... Jesus."

The indignation was beginning to ebb back into embarrassment. Eli's eyes drifted down to the dirt beneath their feet. "Well... there's just one game left until rugby season is over, so..."

"Yeah," Harding said. "Yeah. I... well, yeah. I guess."

Then descended a silence so awkward it made God long for death.

"Okay. See you next practice," Eli said.

"Y-yeah," Harding stammered, and then stumbled off in the direction of the fitness center.

Eli needed a wash, but he didn't imagine it was the best idea to follow Harding to the showers. Instead, he headed off in the opposite direction and ducked past the lingering crowds to make his way back to Wolf Hall. He moved quickly, and diligently ignored the kids who called out his name to talk about the game.

Each bounding step he took up the stairs to his room left him angrier and angrier. By the time he made it to the shower and put it on full blast, he was about ready to crush somebody's fucking skull.

In absence of the ability to do that, Eli decided to jerk off instead.

It was over in nearly an instant, and didn't feel like much of anything. He stared at his open palm as the rush of the water washed away any evidence of what he'd just done.

It still felt oddly dirty all the same. 

Eli didn't have it in him to bother to scrub or anything. He just leaned on his arm against the slick tile and let the spray run over his skin, hot to the point of discomfort, and gazed down at the rusted shower drain. He stood motionless until the water ran cold.

When Eli emerged from the washroom with a towel around his waist, he found that Samuel had arrived back from the game. He seemed to be waiting patiently for his turn in the shower — too bad for him.

"Hey," Eli said, telegraphing his actual disinterest in a conversation. He began to dig through his things for sufficiently clean clothing. He badly needed to have laundry done.

"Hi," Samuel said. "The team noticed you disappeared, but I couldn't find you."

Eli produced a _hmph_ and dropped his towel.

Samuel watched Eli carefully as he fumbled with the process of dressing. "You seem upset," he observed. 

The absurdity of the statement made Eli release a bark of laughter. "I'm not fucking _upset,_ " he said, stumbling awkwardly as he tried to pull on his trousers.

Samuel fell into silence for a time. Eli had managed to put on a shirt by the time Samuel spoke to correct himself. "You seem angry."

"Yeah, I'm fucking angry," Eli said, letting himself fall backwards onto his bed. It was too soft. He then decided the shirt he'd put on smelled a little too sweaty, so he pulled it off and threw it back on the ground, even though he was really wet and the dorms were miserably cold. Fuck it, he'd just stay in bed the rest of the day.

"Can I ask why?"

Eli thought about whether or not he wanted to answer, and what he'd tell Samuel if he did. Part of him wanted to just tell the nosey kid to fuck off, but the desire to complain was just as strong. Eventually, he snorted, "Yeah."

"... Why?"

Eli rolled onto his front and let the too-soft blankets of his bed smother his face. His voice came out muffled when he spoke. "Harding rejected me."

"Rejected you?" Samuel repeated.

Eli turned his head to be able to look at Samuel and snorted. "Right after the game, I kissed him."

Samuel didn't look shocked. His response came in blank register. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever."

Samuel moved over to sit on the edge of his own bed. Eli stared at Samuel's knees with unfocused eyes and watched a droplet of sweat run down to his sock. "Can I... help?" Samuel asked.

"What the hell would you be able to do?"

"I don't know," Samuel answered. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Yeah, Eli thought. "No," Eli said.

"Okay," Samuel said. He lingered for just a little while, before he rose from his seat on his bed and let himself into the washroom to shower in the water Eli left freezing.

Eli released a rattling sigh and closed his eyes.


	13. I Know It

Practice with Harding was awkward. That didn't really come as a surprise; Eli had expected things to be tense and uncomfortable. But the degree to which Eli's presence seemed to unsettle Harding was startling, and a little bit ridiculous — Eli wasn't sure he'd ever seen Harding so far off his game, not even just after Barker had just been injured. Any time Harding had to so much as _speak_ to Eli, he seized up, went cold, couldn't muster more than curt and almost _nervous_ direction — it was so weird and out of character that there was no way the rest of the team hadn't noticed _something_ was going on.

Rather than make Eli feel bad, Harding's behavior only brought strength to his conviction that Harding was a stupid dickhead he wanted nothing to do with. It would be ridiculous to be so worried about the opinions of a son of a bitch so fragile he couldn't even handle turning someone _else_ down. Eli was fucking _over_ it.

Eli couldn't fix whatever the fuck Harding's problem was, and he didn't want to. If Harding was suffering, he was _glad_. He wanted Harding to be as uncomfortable and miserable as possible. He fucking deserved it. But Eli wasn't about to let Harding's inability to deal with the situation to drag the entire team into the gutter and cost him the most important game of the season.

"Hey," Eli blurted out, just after he and Samuel had laid down to sleep. "Do you think you could break into the infirmary and steal me some, I don't know, laxative?"

Samuel did not get up, or turn over from where he lay on his side faced away from Eli. "... Are you constipated?" he asked.

"No," Eli answered, like that was a ridiculous question.

Samuel was quiet.

"... Well, can you?" Eli insisted. 

If Eli hadn't been listening closely, he might not have caught Samuel's reply.

"Tell me to do it and I will."

"Okay. Then do it."

Eli found a plastic baggie filled with pills under his pillow the next evening.

 

***

 

**11 December, 1987. The rugby pitch.**

Harding lead the team onto the pitch with the solemnity of a funeral procession. 

This was it. Everything that they had been working towards over the course of the term would come to a head here, in the final grudge match between Wolf and Stag. The outcome of this match would decide who took home the tournament victory, and settle York and Barker's rivalry once and for all. While he couldn't play himself, Barker watched on from the stands; it was up to the team to win a proxy battle in his name.

Wolf was as prepared as they were ever going to be. The team had worked hard over the term, and even Eli thought they had a pretty solid base of players. The only problem was, of course, _Harding_ — the team depended on him, and Eli didn't trust him to be playing at full strength. Then again, Eli could never rely on anyone for anything. 

In the end, it didn't matter. Failure was not an option. Wolf would win this game, no matter what. Eli would see to that.

Eli took his place on the field. He was not nervous or worried — he burned with the conviction of his superiority. He was at the top of his form, and he would stop at nothing to win.

But for all Eli's passion, it did little to compensate for his own team. Stag won possession of the ball early on in the game, and they were ruthless in its defense. The match hadn't even cleared two minutes before they scored the first try, and the second didn't come long after that. By the ten minute mark, Stag had scored 24 points to 0. 

The rest of the first half didn't go terribly much better. Wolf managed to at least secure the ball, but regaining ground following such a crushing opening was a difficult ordeal. Eli managed two tries himself, but relying on the rest of his teammates to actually be fucking alive was apparently more than he could ask for. 

Wolf entered halftime down 15 points.

Eli was furious with how the team was playing. There was no excuse for this. Stag hadn't crushed them this badly in their first match, and there was nothing to attribute this failure to but a lack of _confidence_. And Eli held Harding to blame — the rest of the team could surely recognize the fear in Harding's quiet reticence. 

When Eli took Harding aside during halftime, Harding looked shocked and possibly even a little _scared._ It was utterly ridiculous. Eli did his best not to roll his eyes. "You've already fucking given up," Eli accused him.

Harding went slackjawed. "I —"

"We are _not_ going to fucking lose," Eli snarled. When he gestured, Harding noticeably flinched. "What are you doing? Everyone counts on you. You're our fucking leader. The team follows everything that you do. If you act like you are weak, your men will _be_ weak. You _know_ this."

Harding scowled. Evidently, Eli's attempts to set him straight were not going to be well received. "You're right, I _am_ your leader. And I don't _appreciate_ being spoken to like a —"

Eli snorted loudly and turned away to join the rest of the team at the bench. He didn't have the time or patience for a stupid fight with Harding. If he wasn't going to step up to the plate and take fucking charge of his team, _Eli_ would.

Eli called the team to attention around him. "Listen up," he barked, his face set into a commanding glare. "You're all playing like shit. Is this what we worked all season for? To be thrown into the fucking dirt like garbage?"

Some of the older players were clearly surprised to be hearing a _fourth year_ speak to them this way. Gilliam responded with particular offense. "What the fuck is your problem, Snake?"

Eli was not fazed by Gilliam's tone. He puffed himself up and had no reservations about getting right up into Gilliam's face. "You're my fucking problem. What the fuck was that back there? You could've easily taken West out that last try, but you just let him fucking slip loose. Are you even _trying?_ " He spun around, glaring angrily at the crowd of boys around him. "Are _any_ of you?"

Finally, Harding seemed motivated to step in. "Snake, you can't —"

Eli turned on Harding. " _Someone_ has to lead your team," Eli spat, his tone full of venom.

" _Abusing_ us won't _help_ with fucking anything," Harding said.

"Then do something that _will._ "

Harding was clearly simmering with anger. Eli was glad; maybe the fury would motivate him to fucking _win._ Harding exhaled a sigh out of his clenched teeth, and roughly pushed Eli aside to finally take his place and fucking _lead._

"We need to step up," Harding said. "Look, the game isn't lost yet. We could easily make a comeback in the second half, but Snake's right — we aren't playing at our best, and that's my fault. I shouldn't be letting — I — listen, we're going to win, all right? We're going to fucking win."

Eli was content to stand back in silence once Harding built up some steam going over their strategy for the second half. He was glad to see that he'd successfully stoked a little bit of fire into the ranks. Between that and the _special efforts_ he'd undertaken before the match, maybe they could actually turn this around.

Eli only began to worry in earnest when the second half commenced with York still in play. But sure enough, he started to see the signs he was looking for — York was growing slower, a little more sluggish. He stumbled here and there, looked ill at ease. Eli could see the discomfort in his every movement.

It all reached a head after an unfortunate pass. York found himself with the ball, but affected as he was, his ability to maneuver was completely shot — it didn't take much for Wolf to pin him down. And then everything went to shit.

The smell was the first thing to hit the crowd. It was so noxious and powerful that the ball went all but forgotten. The ruck began to disperse when those closest to _ground zero_ made whatever desperate attempts they could to fight their way free. 

Once the unusual behavior of the ruck drew attention, the referee blew the whistle and brought the game to a stop. The few who hadn't already been repulsed by the stench got up and backed away from where York lay.

"Holy shit, York, did you _shit_ yourself?" asked Housman, his face contorted into a disgusted sneer. His voice sounded very nasal with his nose held.

York groaned and clutched his stomach. As Eli approached the growing crowd, he could more easily survey his handiwork; not only were York's shorts obviously marred by a dark stain, the liquid running down his legs was clearly visible against the pale flesh of his thighs.

Eli watched with dry amusement as York rolled in the grass. He felt more comfortable laughing after Gilliam did, but the others' mood quickly shifted when it became clear just how much pain York was in. He had to be lead off the field half doubled over, and it seemed pretty clear that he wouldn't be subbing back in after a quick shower.

York's loss changed everything. York was the captain, coach and most critical player on the Stag team — his departure affected much more than the single position he vacated. Even if the player they subbed on could adequately play the game, nothing could replicate York's tactical contributions, nor make up for the psychological blow. 

The match didn't become _easy,_ by any means. Even without York, Stag fielded a formidable opposition — but the teams' morale took a palpable turn. Eli could smell the fear on the Stags, and Wolf finally found the strength to go for blood.

Even Eli could sense the crowd's disappointment. With both York and Barker out of the game, everything that the season had been building up to was wasted. The match amounted to little more than a symbol, at this stage — but York and Barker's rivalry meant nothing to Eli's own personal victory. He was going to win, for his own sake.

Slowly but surely, Wolf closed the gap in the second half. There were less than 10 minutes left on the clock by the time they finally tied the score, but Wolf needed at least another 17 if they were going to win the game _and_ the tournament.

Eli pulled it off. Almost single handedly, he brought home try after try and nailed every kick and zealously guarded the ball from the opposition's possession. By the time the clock ticked over, Wolf had secured a 47-28 point win and victory in the tournament.

This should've been just about the happiest day of Harding's life. Everyone was clapping and cheering for them, and the team was going nuts, and even Barker hobbled down from the stands to congratulate the team. But Harding's smile didn't reach his eyes, and there was an emptiness in his stare whenever his gaze happened to land on Eli. Eli wasn't feeling particularly jubilant, either.

Eventually, when the commotion had mostly died down and everyone was prepared to return to their rooms for a well-earned rest, Harding came to Eli with a grave look and asked him if he had the time to talk.

"About what?" Eli defensively asked. As far as he was concerned, the less he spoke to Harding, the better. He didn't want to even see Harding again after this, if he could avoid it.

But when Harding shook his head and began to walk away, Eli's curiosity got the better of him and he couldn't help but follow. He trailed behind Harding until Harding had lead him to a more private spot behind the campus store, not far from the gym. It was unlikely anyone would intrude on their conversation there.

Harding began with a pained look and a tired sigh. "Eli..."

"I told you not to call me that," Eli snapped.

Harding drew a deep breath, and got straight to the point. "It's about what happened with York. I saw you go into... you — you _cheated,_ didn't you? You put something in York's water bottle, or —"

Eli defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I did?"

"Jesus," Harding exhaled. With his suspicions confirmed, he looked even more miserable than he'd already been. "You can't do that. You can't _fucking_ do that."

Eli found his indignation to be utterly absurd. "After last week — If I didn't do something, we were going to lose. You proved that in the first half," he said. It was a natural conclusion to reach. He knew he wasn't wrong. "And it was me who put you off your game. It was up to me to make up for it."

Harding stared at Eli in abject disbelief. "You can't fucking — fucking _poison_ people because things are weird between us. What the fuck?"

Eli didn't have much to say for himself, so he kept quiet. He knew there was no way Harding, or any of the people in this world bound by their arbitrary standards of morality, would be able to understand the truth in the way Eli did. But even if Harding couldn't see the world, he still saw _Eli_ — and wouldn't stop _looking_ at him. Eli wished he'd stop.

To Eli's relief, Harding broke off to start restlessly pacing. "Do you have any idea what it's like to know that the greatest victory of your life is completely hollow and meaningless?" Harding exhaled, and Eli wanted to tell him that he _did,_ but he didn't get the opportunity to cut into Harding's breathless rambling. "Look, I've tried to be, like — I don't know, _cool_ about it. I think I have been, considering! Fuck, I'm _sorry._ Haven't I said that? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if you feel like I've, I've _lead you on,_ or whatever — I _really_ am. Believe me, I've lost plenty of sleep over it! I feel awful about it! I don't know what else to say to you! It _is_ weird, but — _Jesus._ You can't act like this."

Eli thought that he was over this. He thought that he'd identified his weakness, marked it off and neatly excised it for good. But looking at Harding, and thinking about what he'd said and the way that he looked at Eli with _disgust_ in his eyes, and all of the shame and regret came flooding back. He couldn't help but entertain the comfort of the denial, the slightest glimmer of a chance; he asked, "You... you really don't feel anything for me?"

"I —" Harding frowned deeply, and paused in search of words. "No. Especially not now," he answered, the words like ice on his lips. His hot breath ghosted the air behind them. "Honestly, you fucking scare me, Snake."

Eli forced himself to look Harding in the eye, and they held an uncomfortably tense gaze.

Eli had so much he wanted to say, and the same time, absolutely nothing that he could. He knew that it was pointless. He knew that it was stupid to have ever even thought that this was possible — they were too different, and Harding didn't know him, and he'd hate him if he did. He was starting to hate him now, with what little fleeting glimpses he'd caught of the way Eli really was. And it was a superficial attraction, based on very little beyond a childish fixation with the concept of wanting to be wanted, and in the abstract, there was very little about Harding that Eli truly connected with. Eli knew he wouldn't want Harding if he had him — he'd tire quickly, just like he'd tire with the rest of this farce of a life.

But the stupid part was, that despite knowing all of this, despite wishing with every fiber of his being to just not _give_ a shit, he still cared, and it still hurt, and these meaningless words from this meaningless person cut him more deeply than any knife.

There was nothing to be done. Eli was the first to look away. "Whatever, then," he said, and turned to go.

That wasn't enough for Harding. "I should tell the headmaster," he said. "I know I should. I'm the captain. If I don't, and anyone finds out, and they know _I_ knew —"

Eli stopped. It took a moment for the laugh to rise up like a sickness in his throat. "Yeah, all right. Good reason to chase the queer off your team, right?"

"Christ, Eli, you think I'm really _like_ that?"

Eli snapped around like a whip and closed the distance and slammed Harding up against the wall, fist balled in his shirt as he trembled with a sudden flood of anger. "If you call me that — _one more fucking time_ — I swear to _god,_ I'll fucking _kill_ you."

"What the fuck?" Harding panted breathlessly, his eyes blown wide in shock. "What the fuck?"

Unfortunately, the two of them weren't so well concealed that they didn't go unnoticed by the chance inconvenient passing of a teacher who happened to glance down their way. A nervous woman's voice cut through the cold air. "What's going on over here?" she asked, reluctantly approaching.

Eli warily looked to her. It was Miss Borrel, the French teacher, a small statured, anxious woman with little experience or particularly much good sense. Under her frightened gaze, Eli released Harding, and took an unsteady step back. His head was so flooded with overwhelming undirected intensity that he could barely see straight. "It's nothing," he mumbled. "We were just..."

Harding clearly didn't think it was nothing. "He — he just attacked me — he threatened to _kill_ me," he stammered, his hands shaking as they rubbed at the skin of his own neck. "What the fuck?"

Miss Borrel managed an expression that appeared even more alarmed than the one she wore normally. "Mr. Doe, is this _true?_ " 

"Um," Eli answered.

After suddenly concluding that it was probably best to dole out some discipline, she attempted to steel herself, straighten her posture and adopt as authoritative a tone as she could muster. "I think — with your past _history_ starting fights, goodness — maybe it's time for you to meet with the headmaster, wouldn't you say?"

Eli didn't know why he didn't just run. It wouldn't be hard. He could just dash for the woods right now and be gone and never come back. He could easily live off the wild for a time, however long it took him to trek back to some semblance of society. He could go anywhere that he wanted and be free of this, free of the rules and restrictions and the inanity of actually considering doing something that an adult has told him to do. But as he stared Miss Borrel in her watery, nervous eyes, he couldn't help but see his mother's face reflected in them. 

"Whatever," he said, and went along with her without protest.

Miss Borrel marched Eli right up to the doors of the faculty quarters, which was just past the nearby library and international building. As the two of them stood at the foot of it, Eli stared up. 

He couldn't imagine how all the faculty in the school actually managed to fill such a tremendous building. It was the largest on campus by far, a tall gothic structure with peaked roofs and a grey facade distinguished by age. The entrance to the palatial estate was flanked by a pair of towers that jutted up far enough to make a giant feel small. It wasn't so long ago that Eli had climbed the one that belonged to that girl; he could see her window from here, glittering in the setting sun.

At Miss Borrel's urging, he followed along after she pushed open the large doors to the building. A spacious lobby greeted them on the other side; Miss Borrel brought him as far as the staircase up to the eastern tower, and seemed reluctant to go any further. "Up you go," she said. "You'll find Headmaster Kugler's office marked as such. Knock before you let yourself in."

"You're not coming with me?" he asked.

If Eli had thought Miss Borrel looked scared before, he was swiftly acquainted with what terror actually looked like on her face. "Part of this lesson must be in taking responsibility for your actions," she said, and waited only long enough to see Eli off on his way up before she skittishly departed the building.

Whatever. Eli was too exhausted to even protest. He climbed the steps of the tower until he came to the door appropriately marked with painstakingly wrought lettering:

OFFICE  
JOSEPH KUGLER

He rapped on the heavy wooden door twice and waited.

"Come in," called a voice from the other side.

Eli slowly opened the door to reveal the office inside. The circular tower room was lined with shelves of hundreds of books, lit by warm light. Towards the far end of the room was a grand wooden desk, and behind it, the headmaster of St. Francis. 

Eli stepped forward through the door and shut it behind himself. Headmaster Kugler didn't look up when Eli came to stand in the center of the room; he couldn't help but feel self-conscious, surrounded by so much space.

As Eli stared at the man behind his desk, he thought about what he'd seen that night on half-term break. He wondered if Kugler was playing at ignorance, just as Mary had. Did he know who Eli was? Was he thinking the same thing? From his complete absorption in his work, it seemed not, but perhaps he was a better liar than Eli knew.

When Kugler made no acknowledgement of him, Eli finally spoke up. "Hello."

Kugler scratched away at the letter set before him. "Good evening," he said. "Why are you in my office?"

"I got sent up here," Eli said.

"Yes, clearly," Kugler replied. "The reason?"

He hadn't planned it. It was by complete impulse that he made the decision.

It was petty and foolish, Eli knew — there was no doubt that he would be expelled for it, and then who knew what Ocelot would do to him. But there was some vindictive part inside of him that longed to make Harding _hurt,_ and he couldn't ignore its voice, even if it would surely ruin him just as readily.

"I poisoned Aleister York before the game tonight," Eli admitted. "He ended up getting sick during the game and that's the only reason Wolf won."

Kugler peered at Eli over his reading glasses with a piercing look. His eyes were like ice, cold and completely without life; Eli thought he could feel his fingers freeze under the headmaster's stare. "You poisoned another student," Kugler repeated.

"Whatever," Eli said. "It was just some stuff to make him shit during the game."

"What is your name?" the headmaster asked.

Eli hesitated. 

He didn't often know the emotion of _fear_ , and he wouldn't have said he was experiencing it then — but there was something about Headmaster Kugler that gave him pause, and triggered a very instinctual sense of unease that he couldn't simply _shake_. However strong his will and drive to disobey, he hit a block that he couldn't always easily push past.

He realized it was because Kugler reminded him of his father.

"Eli," he said, the answer escaping his lips before he could change it.

Kugler set aside his pen. He slowly took off his glasses, folded them carefully, and put them neatly down atop the head of his letter. "Have a seat, Eli," the headmaster said, gesturing to the chair set up by his desk.

Eli did as he was told. His hands found their way to the armrests of the chair, where they gripped the carved mahogany with painful force.

"I will not tolerate this sort of behavior at my school," Kugler said, folding his hands over his desk.

Eli stared at Kugler's nose and said nothing. Looking into the headmaster's dead ashen eyes felt too much like being consumed.

"Perhaps fortunately for you, St. Francis is a beneficiary of state funding and thus I am barred from exacting a punishment appropriate to such a disgusting act of cowardice," Kugler said, imparting his tone with no emotion. "But you wouldn't be much deterred by a mere birching, would you?"

Eli felt his stomach drop like a stone. "What are you _saying?_ " Eli defensively snapped. What did _that_ mean? Surely he couldn't be _insinuating_ that... the last thing Eli needed at that moment was more paranoia about the visibility of predilections.

"How do you think you should be punished, Eli?"

Eli felt sweat beading on his forehead. Kugler's evasion of his question only made his anxiety worse. "What?"

Kugler rose from behind his desk, and moved to look out the window. "I'd like to hear what _you_ believe is appropriate recompense for what you've done."

"... Wolf Hall should lose the cup. Give it to Stag," Eli answered, before hastily adding, " _Sir_."

"Do you truly think that enough?"

Kugler must have had some sort of game, but Eli couldn't puzzle out what it _was._ He felt exposed and anxious, as if knowing he was approaching a trap he could not see. "I... don't know what you want me to say."

"It merely sounds as if you would suggest that I punish your fellow students in your stead, given that you clearly haven't any concern for the sanctity of good sportsmanship or the honor of your house in the first place."

 _Shit._

For a moment, Eli worried that Kugler might be capable of _reading his mind._ It certainly _felt_ like the headmaster knew what he was trying to do — but how? He tried to settle his nerves before he carried on. It was harder to go through with it from the standpoint of a reasoned argument than a momentary bitter impulse.

"Well... I guess I should be banned from sports," Eli said. "I should have to tell the school what I've done. Everyone should know that Wolf — because of what _I_ did — won unfairly."

Kugler took a moment to consider his options.

"I would be well within my rights to expel you," Kugler said, as if simply thinking to himself out loud. "But a boy of your age and disposition... you wouldn't be able to _understand_ the gravity of expulsion. More a punishment for your parents than you, wouldn't you say? Hmm."

Eli grit his teeth. He didn't like this. 

"One might think that a boy like yourself, willful and ignorant as you are, has little to lose and littler for me to take," Kugler said. "Deprivation would not affect you; punishment would embolden you; you know not of _shame._ "

Kugler turned around. The window ringed him in ghostly light, as grey as the rest of him. "Perhaps I might simply remind you of how small you are."

Eli licked his lips, and watched with a careful guard as Kugler began a slow approach.

"You are an insect, Eli," Kugler said, coming around to sit on the edge of his desk. "A _parasite._ A tiny, insignificant little thing, who nevertheless takes and takes of the blood of those who are his betters — and for what? This?" He gestured to Eli. "What _are_ you? What has lead you to believe that you even deserve to be _alive?_ "

Eli looked up to the headmaster with his jaw clenched. The corners of Kugler's lips drew back in a facsimile of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. For a moment, Eli forgot where he was and who he was speaking to.

"I'm alive, because I'm stronger than all of the men who've fallen at my feet," Eli said. "I deserve my life, because I've _taken_ it."

"You speak as if you are nothing more than an _animal,_ " Kugler said, his fake smile falling from his face. "And a weak one, at that."

" _Weak?_ " Eli echoed. "I —"

"Whatever you imagine your conquests to be, I can tell you that they are meaningless stolen victories," Kugler said. "A child is the amalgamation of others' sacrifices. Everything that you have, everything you are, was given to you by someone else — your education; the clothes on your back; the words you speak. Your name. Your body. Your soul. The world shows no mark of you, because you are nothing but a _composite,_ immature and undeveloped — and yet you believe yourself to be my _equal?_ "

Eli didn't have an argument, only a conviction in which he was surer than anything. "Yes," he said.

"Tell me why your life is worth so much that you would hurt another to better it," Kugler demanded. "Tell me what you have done to justify your pride and selfish greed."

"The _world_ is selfish."

"What could you possibly know of the world, child?"

"Enough," Eli answered.

Kugler fell silent, studying Eli's face with intensity. Eli felt challenged to stare defiantly back into his eyes, but it was almost too much to handle — he was flooded with relief when Kugler was the one to finally look away first.

"You may leave," Kugler said, pushing up off of his desk.

"Wait, what?"

Kugler repeated, "You may leave."

"Just... like that?" Eli asked.

"Just like that."

Eli's felt his mouth fall open as he stared disbelievingly up at Kugler. That was it? He wasn't going to be punished at all? He hesitated in getting up at all, wondering if it was some sort of test, or a trick, or —

As if answering Eli's unspoken question, Kugler began to explain himself. "You will be barred from participating in any teams or clubs in the future, of course — I'll trust that my occasional checkings in will keep you honest — but the public admission of a _poisoning_... A scandal of such a magnitude wouldn't be particularly becoming of my headmastership, would it?"

Eli was... baffled. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" he blurted out.

For a moment, both Eli and the headmaster appeared to be stunned. Eli hadn't expected his own outburst any more than Kugler had. Kugler's voice dropped to just above a whisper when he replied, "Excuse me?"

But Eli was beyond the point of being scared into silence by Kugler's presence. Now he wanted to fight, no matter the consequence. 

"You have to punish me," Eli insisted, growing heated. "I did something wrong. Why won't you punish me?"

Kugler responded with a gentle smile. "That isn't how the world works," he said.

"Fuck you," Eli said. "Expel me," Eli said. "Hit me. Beat me. Who will I tell? Who will care?"

Kugler looked down into Eli's blazing eyes with an equally icy composure. "Do you think speaking to me this way will goad me into giving you what you want?"

Eli clenched his jaw and his fists. His heart was beating quickly. In spite of himself, it was impossible not to cool under the oppressive frost of Kugler's stare. "What I _want?_ " he repeated.

"I'm not utterly unperceptive, Eli. I can tell you came here seeking to be punished," Kugler said. "Of course, I cannot divine the precise details of whatever windfall you believe this would bring you, but I am loath to deliver it upon you all the same."

Eli could think of nothing to say.

"So _that_ is my punishment to you," Kugler continued. "I will leave you to live with what you've done, knowing it was a fruitless endeavor. Perhaps your conscience will serve as a sufficient reprimand. Perhaps it won't. In any case, I am no longer concerned with anything you've done. I would like for you to leave."

With that, Kugler clearly considered their exchange to be over and done with. He turned, circled around his desk, took his seat in his high backed leather chair and resumed his work neatly drafting the letter set before him.

Eli found that his knees were trembling when he climbed to his feet. He looked down at Kugler as he wrote, carefully studying the controlled movements of his hands. Every line the headmaster etched onto the page was meticulous, though Eli couldn't read a word of it — it was all in German. Kugler had no further words to offer Eli, even as he stood stiff and stared. 

Eventually, Eli mustered the will to break himself free of his transfixion and turn for the door. He crossed the room, let himself out, and started on his way down the long staircase of the tower. His footfalls resounded with uncomfortable volume through the chamber.

Eli cast his gaze upward as he emerged from the building. The air was fresh and clear, and the color shone brightly in the winter evening sky. Eli breathed in deeply, and willed himself to calm.

 

***

 

Aleister York died.

The news came as a shock even to Eli. It wasn't as if he felt _bad_ about it — he had no reason to care whether York lived or died — but it had certainly not been Eli's intention to _kill_ him. He hadn't known that it was even possible for that to _happen._

Eli had little insight into the circumstances of York's death beyond rumors. Apparently, York had assumed his illness during the game was a minor stomach bug, and didn't seek actual medical attention for it. Eli's only concern, if it could even be called that, was whether or not he would be determined to be _culpable._

Harding must've been keeping quiet about it, to Eli's surprise. Surely if he'd told, Eli would have faced some sort of consequence — but no one spoke anything of Eli's involvement, and none of the faculty sought to punish him for it. Maybe Harding had concluded that reporting Eli, and forfeiting Wolf's tournament victory in the process, would be too heavy a blow to his precious _Barker._ Or maybe he did try to speak to the headmaster, only for the matter to be brushed aside. 

Certainly any kind of autopsy or toxicology report would have shown that York had been poisoned — could Kugler have managed to suppress that, too? 

Eli expected to at least have a _conversation_ with Kugler, some sort of further scolding, but nothing came. While Eli was far from feeling _remorse_ for what he'd done, he did find himself a little perturbed by Kugler's refusal to _do_ anything about it. Who _was_ this man? What were he and Mary _doing_ here? He was no simple schoolmaster, that's for sure. 

Eli decided to ask Ocelot about it during their last counseling session of the year. He casually recounted his actions in securing the Wolf victory, and was surprised by Ocelot's response.

"Eli... you... you can't _poison_ people," Ocelot sighed. He was massaging his temples in exasperation.

Well, clearly he fucking could and did. Eli dramatically rolled his eyes. "Like _you've_ never poisoned anybody."

"I've never poisoned anyone to win a _secondary school rugby game_ —"

"Well, aren't _you_ fucking special? Great bloody hypocrite. It doesn't matter now, anyway — the headmaster knows and he didn't —"

Ocelot's eye's widened _considerably._ "The _headmaster?_ "

Eli was reluctant to tell Ocelot exactly how much he'd seen and knew. He wasn't quite sure he understood his own reasons why, but he discovered that he didn't _want_ to break his promise to Mary now. Not yet, anyway. But he could ask about Kugler without mentioning her easily enough. "Yeah. And the thing is, he didn't _do_ anything to me. I told him that I _poisoned_ another student and he didn't _care._ " 

"You tell me right away if he ever so much as _looks_ at you again," Ocelot said. He sounded so _serious,_ it was unnerving. "I don't want you to speak to that man ever again. Do you understand me?"

Well, that satisfied his curiosity about whether or not Ocelot knew who Kugler was. "Tell me what's going _on_ at this school," Eli demanded.

"Eli, come to _me_ first if something like this happens. I can _fix_ things like this. But if you —"

Eli was growing angry. "I want to know who Kugler is. You obviously know. Why are you keeping me in the dark?"

"You are not part of this operation," Ocelot forcefully said.

"What the fuck? _Operation?_ " Eli repeated, incredulous. "You're here on a _mission?_ "

Ocelot looked like he already regretted saying too much. "No, I —"

"Wow, and here I'd tricked myself into thinking that maybe either of you gave a _shit_ about me. But no, this is just _bring your child to work day_ —"

"Eli, _enough,_ " Ocelot commanded. Ocelot so rarely raised his voice that Eli was genuinely startled when he did. "You are here to get an _education,_ and I am here to supervise you as you do it. Whatever else I do in my post here is _not_ your concern. You are a child."

Eli could hardly believe it. "Are you... _afraid_ of Kugler?"

"Not for my own sake," Ocelot answered.

"I'm not a _helpless little boy,_ " Eli insisted, scowling. "I deserve to know what I'm involved in."

Ocelot rose from his seat behind his desk, his face set into severe expression. "You're involved in nothing, and we're done here," he announced.

Eli looked at the clock. "It's not even quarter past —"

"Go back to your room, Eli. This session is over."

If Ocelot intended to staunch Eli's inquiries with his reaction, then he had accomplished the exact opposite. Eli left Ocelot's office more curious than he ever had been before, and like hell was he going to sit down and do as he was told.

There was definitely something going on at St. Francis, and it ran much deeper than Ocelot let on. Nothing was going to stop Eli from finding out.


	14. Holiday

**21 December, 1987. Northern England.**

At long last, Michaelmas term came to a close.

Eli was honestly a little surprised it had been as easy as it was — it had been a very long time since Eli had had any kind of schooling, but he supposed being a natural genius made picking it up a simple matter. 

But with the commencement of winter break came the problem of where Eli was going to _live._ Unlike during the half-term break, the school fully closed for the Christmas vacation, so Eli would _have_ to leave. He hadn't even thought about where he was going to go until Ocelot showed up on the day of move-out to take him god knows where.

Naturally, Eli hadn't packed at all; Ocelot became very annoyed when he discovered this fact, as if he'd expected Eli to just know what to do without any direction. Samuel had already left by the time Ocelot arrived, so they spent an uncomfortably long period of time packing while Ocelot nagged him about how infrequently he did laundry.

"You're not my fucking mum," Eli complained.

"And thank god for that." 

Ocelot put Eli and his luggage into the same beat up old brown car in which EVA had first brought him to school. Eli didn't ask Ocelot where they were going as they pulled away from St. Francis, and he didn't particularly care. What concerned him was what they were going to do when they _got_ there.

The prospect of living _alone_ with Ocelot was foreboding for a number of reasons that didn't make Eli particularly comfortable to contemplate. What were they going to _do_ for two weeks? Whatever the state of their awkward relationship, Eli couldn't imagine Ocelot having any interest in engaging in normal social activities with him. Maybe Ocelot would just leave him to fend for himself — but it seemed unlikely that he'd give Eli the chance to escape. Eli wasn't sure he wouldn't take it, himself.

It was then the possibility occurred to him, but he didn't want to get his hopes up.

Eli rode in the car with Ocelot in dead silence. He had questions, but none he was willing to _ask._ Ocelot seemed perfectly content with the quiet.

Eli wasn't sure how long they drove for. St. Francis really was in the middle of nowhere — it was nothing but one-lane roads and trees all around them, and they didn't come across a single other car on the way. Eli leaned his forehead on the glass of the passenger side window and watched the world zip by in boredom, though there was never much to see. Snow had fallen a few times in December, but never enough to stick to the ground beyond a few oozing clumps of filthy brown ice. 

Ocelot eventually pulled off onto a dirt path and started them up an inclined trail into the woods. It was dark under the heavy cover of trees — and probably safer that way. They drove for a good while until what Eli presumed was their destination came into view.

In the depths of the forest, just a little bit off the trail, was an unremarkable little cabin. It was almost an idyllic sight — it was constructed of a heavy wooden logs with a small covered porch, and a thin plume of smoke billowed from the chimney. What made Eli's heart jump into his throat, though, was the motorcycle parked out front.

Suddenly, Eli jumped to attention. "Is — is my mother here?" he asked, almost fearful to hear the answer if it weren't true.

"So I've been told," Ocelot replied.

Eli threw open the door of the car the moment they'd parked and all but ran up to the door of the cabin, leaving Ocelot to bring in Eli's things by himself. With a deep breath, Eli turned the unlocked handle and let himself in. 

The interior of the cabin was small and smelled strongly of wood. There was very little of note inside of it — there was a fireplace set into the wall, with a crackling pile of logs inside of it, a few windows to let in light, and a few pieces of furnishing set about the space. Towards the back of the cabin was a small table with a single chair, and in it he found his mother.

EVA was sat at the table picking through the disassembled parts of a pistol, cleaning them with precise and thorough care. When Eli stepped through the door, she lifted her head and looked to him with a warm smile that made Eli so weirdly fucking happy that he didn't even know what to do about the emotion. "Eli," she said.

For some reason, his reaction was to freeze in his spot as EVA rose from her seat and made her way across the room. He remained just as stiff when she reached out and pulled him into a hug. "Hi," Eli mumbled.

EVA pulled back and held him at arm's length to look at him, smiling broadly. "I think you've gotten taller since the last time I saw you!"

Had he? Eli hadn't noticed. He supposed parts of her looked a bit... lower. He diverted his gaze down at his feet with something resembling embarrassment. "Um, maybe — I guess I did grow a little bit."

"Ha. Has your _accent_ gotten posher?"

Now _that_ made Eli genuinely mortified. "H-has it?" he stammered. He'd never even thought about how being surrounded by a bunch of lily white pampered children would affect the way he spoke, and he didn't much like what that implied.

Thankfully, EVA seemed to notice his discomfort and smoothly transitioned away from the subject. "I've missed you so much, honey. I'm so glad I was able to make it out for Christmas."

"I... me too."

Ocelot pushed past the two of them to haul Eli's bag into the cabin, making it look much heavier than Eli _knew_ it actually was. There was nothing but clothing in there. Ocelot was a little bitch.

EVA was unfazed by Ocelot's dramatics. "This is going to be just great," she confidently proclaimed. "We've got three whole weeks to have some family time, right?"

After Ocelot had dropped Eli's luggage off in the bedroom, he reemerged with an apparent urgency to flee. "You two have fun," he declared, trying to escape out the door.

EVA stopped him in his tracks with a firm grip on his arm. "Adam, are you sure you won't stay?" she pleaded, reaching out to touch the side of his face when he begrudgingly turned to look at her. "It'll be wonderful, having the three of us together."

"I have work to do," Ocelot replied. When EVA made a show of looking sad, he sighed and added, "Maybe I'll come back around on Christmas. We'll see."

That seemed to raise EVA's spirits to a level sufficient to convince her to let Ocelot go, and he slipped out the door with a cursory wave. With Ocelot gone, Eli was left alone with his mother.

"Let's get your stuff all unpacked, yeah?"

Eli helped EVA unload the clothing messily stuffed into his bag. She immediately noticed how much of it was dirty. "We're going to have to bring this to a laundromat in town now," she clucked, shaking her head.

"We don't have a washing machine here?"

"We're in the middle of the woods, honey. We don't even have real plumbing."

Eli was regretting putting it off, now. Even getting together his shit to have it washed by the house service was too much of an onerous burden for him to deal with — the prospect of having to _launder his clothes himself_ was next to _impossible_. He didn't even know how a washing machine _worked._ "Maybe I could, uh, wash them by hand..."

EVA looked at Eli like he was nuts.

"Or... not," Eli sighed.

"Mhmmmm." EVA began putting all of the dirty clothing _back_ into the bag. "Come on, let's go."

"What? You mean — right _now?_ "

"Yes, right now," she answered. "We need to go into town anyway to do some shopping. Let's just get it out of the way."

Eli sighed laboriously and helped her carry his stuff back to the car. Ocelot had already taken the motorcycle and left by the time they were back outside.

Eli begrudgingly endured the process of EVA fussing over his seatbelt when he got into the passenger seat of the car. Once she'd gotten him as secured as a bank vault, she started up the car and began fiddling with the radio configurations.

"The radio stations here are just awful, honestly," EVA remarked as she pulled off onto the road.

"I don't really listen to the radio."

"Probably for the best." EVA found a station with some reception, but they rolled another few seconds through the woods and it lapsed into static again. "Ugh!"

She eventually gave up on the radio and the two of them were left with only each other to fill the silence. "So," EVA began, "How's school?"

Eli wasn't sure how to answer the question. What was it like living at school? What did he do there? How were his grades? All of the possible interpretations of the question were miserably boring. "Fine, I guess," he answered.

"Have you made any friends?"

Eli hesitated. Had he?

At first he thought of Harding, and that was painful. If they'd ever been friends, they certainly weren't anymore. So Eli did his best to push that thought to the back of his mind.

Maybe Samuel was a friend. He didn't really know. At first, he'd thought of the boy as one of his men — but when nothing resembling an _army_ really formed, he wasn't sure that really applied. He didn't _make_ Samuel do anything. He didn't offer him shelter or food or a cause to live for. If Samuel really wanted to, he could've transferred rooms just like Charles, and never even spoken to Eli again. Was that what a _friend_ was?

"I guess," Eli answered. "Maybe."

"That's good," EVA said. "Are you... happy?"

That was an even more difficult question to answer than the one before.

Eli wasn't sure he even knew what happiness was. Had he ever "been happy"? He'd experienced moments of joy in his life, sure — but what constituted the state of _being happy?_ Was there some sort of mathematical formula with which he could derive whether he experienced, on average, more happiness than sadness or anger? Was it a relative assessment? If he were still as filled with indignation and fury as he ever was, would whatever fleeting moments of happiness he experienced be enough to tip the scales?

"I'm... fine," Eli said.

EVA didn't seem to know what to say to that.

The car descended into an awkward silence. It made Eli uncomfortable. He worried that it was his fault. 

"Why did you leave me alone for so long?"

 _Shit._ That wasn't making things any better.

EVA spared Eli a glance, but then looked back to the road ahead of her. "For one, we believed you were dead for nearly three years. We would've acted much sooner if we'd known you'd survived."

"What about _before_ that? You had me shunted about from one useless caretaker to another, and when I finally got it in my head to escape, no one even _tried_ to bring me back."

"Well... there are a lot of reasons."

Eli couldn't stop himself from pushing the issue. "Like what?"

"It's... it's complicated. I'm not sure you would understand."

"I'd like to try," Eli said.

EVA sighed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in a way Eli might have even said was nervous. "I've always loved you, Eli. I know you're... upset, about the circumstances of your — your 'creation' — but I always wanted you. Not as a symbol, or as a replacement for your father, or as a tool — just as my son."

Eli wasn't sure how to even respond to that. He just looked quietly at his mother, and waited for her to carry on.

"I _wanted_ to be your mother, but that wasn't the role that I was meant to play in _Les Enfants Terribles._ I was your surrogate — a body to host a _science experiment,_ and nothing more. When I concluded that job, I was put to use elsewhere. I accepted it. I don't know. Maybe I just didn't know that I wanted more than that until the project had been abandoned and you'd already..." She trailed off. "It's been hard for all of us, Eli."

"My father never wanted anything to do with me," Eli snorted.

EVA seemed unsure of how to word what she wanted to say. "You have to understand... he didn't choose to be a part of _Les Enfants Terribles_ any more than you did. We... undertook the project without his knowledge."

Now there was a surprise. " _What?_ " Eli said.

Clearly, EVA had some regrets. She frowned and said, "It was... a mistake, I think. The reasons why we did it were complicated, but since your father was unable to have children, we — the organization we were a part of at the time — felt we needed to do something to secure your father's legacy. So we, uh..." She laughed nervously. "Decided the only way to do it was to clone him, I guess. And since it was pretty obvious he wouldn't be terribly happy about it if he _knew,_ we... neglected to _ask_ him first."

Eli was baffled beyond belief. Even Eli, with his liberal conception of morality, struggled to comprehend how _anyone_ could've thought that was a good idea. "That's... why would you _do_ that?"

"If I'm being really honest with myself, I think I was afraid," EVA said. "We all were."

"Afraid? Of what?"

EVA smiled with her eyes on the road ahead of her. "Your father is an awfully elusive man, Eli. Even when you think you have him, you find out he's always been one step out of your reach."

 _Don't I know it,_ thought Eli.

"You've never met him, not really. So... it'd be hard for you to understand how he affects people. How deeply we..." EVA laughed softly. "I think _all_ of us were in love with him, in some way or another. He just... _consumed_ us, so completely that life without him became _unimaginable._ So to think that he might get hurt, or _die,_ or simply drift away and leave nothing behind, nothing to carry on everything he represented to the world, and to us — well, I'm sure we all have our unique litany of excuses to justify what we did. But all _I_ wanted was to be sure I'd never really lose him. I wanted to tie myself to him forever. I wanted to know that I would always mean something to him — you never forget _the mother of your children,_ right? I wanted a part of him that wasn't mine to take."

Eli thought he might understand that feeling better than his mother knew. While he certainly wouldn't characterize what he felt for his father as _love,_ it was undeniable that the man filled so much of his life and his identity that it was a struggle to even conceptualize himself apart from his father. His desire to surpass his father defined everything that he was, and everything that he lived for — the simple act of finding a purpose that was uniquely his own was more of a challenge than Eli ever anticipated. Eli wasn't sure if he even _wanted_ one. He wasn't sure what he would _do_ when he finally accomplished proved himself better.

"I still don't know if I made the right decision, but — I want to start making up for it now," EVA said. "I can't take back what I've done, or what I _haven't_ done, but I want to be a part of your life in whatever way I can. Even if we might not ever be able to live like — you know, _normal_ people. It might be too little and too late, but... I'm _trying._ "

"Well... I..." Eli turned his head to look out of the window. "I'm glad you are. I guess."

"Oh! Look over there!" EVA abruptly exclaimed, almost craning her neck out of the window of the car to get a look at the lot they were approaching on the right. "They're selling Christmas trees!"

Eli felt a bit whiplashed by the sudden change of mood. "Uh, looks like it," he confirmed.

"We can get one. We can have a real tree and everything," EVA declared. Eli felt his stomach lurch as she made a wild swerve to pull onto the lot. "I never got to have Christmas when I was young, but it's never too late to start, right?"

It was tortuous how long they spent walking through the rows and rows of Christmas trees. It was cold, and Eli wanted to go back into the heated car. Eli couldn't see any difference whatsoever between the trees, but EVA adamantly refused to settle.

"We need to get the best one," EVA insisted.

"Mum, they're all the same..."

"No, look, this one is obviously all sappy and gross. And what's the deal with this one? There's this huge _gap_ in the branches down here. And this one is leaning to the right so far, it looks like — um, nevermind."

"What about this one?" Eli suggested. He turned and picked a tree at complete random.

EVA moved over to scrutinize the chosen tree as if she were a nuclear plant inspector. After circling completely around the tree several times, she concluded, "Well, it's a little on the small size, but —"

"That's fine," Eli insisted. "We don't have a lot of space in the cabin. The smaller, the better."

"I guess that's true," EVA conceded. "Well, we can get this one, then."

Eli heaved a tremendous sigh in relief.

Just picking the tree was far from the end of it all, however — they were next faced with the prospect of actually getting the thing back _home._ When the man selling the trees finalized the deal and put the tree through the netter, he asked, "How are you planning to get this back?"

EVA responded with a blank look. "Oh. Well, I guess we'll have to get it in the car somehow."

The man laughed. "What type of car you've got? Most folks bring a truck or van, or they tie it up top."

"Huh?" EVA glanced back at the car park. "Oh, it's just an old Ford Cortina."

"In that case, we'll give you some rope if you've need."

"I — well, I guess so. Thanks."

One of the men on the lot brought over some some rope, but it became immediately apparent that he was interested in more than a little bit of commerce. He flashed her a smile and said, "You think you'll be needing any help carrying that out to your car, ma'am?"

EVA laughed as she hoisted the netted tree up over her shoulder. "Don't worry about me, boys. I'm stronger than I look."

Eli grimaced in excruciating agony as he watched his mother flirt with a couple of dumpy tree salesmen. 

Eventually, Eli managed to pry her away from all the attention and lead her back to where their car was parked. Actually tying the tree to the vehicle turned out to be more of an ordeal than either of them anticipated — EVA wagered it couldn't be much more difficult than tying up a person, but it turned out that it extremely was, and it had to have taken them a solid half an hour before they were actually back on the road, headed in the direction of the cabin. 

"Weren't we going to go do my laundry?" Eli asked.

For a moment, EVA looked as if she had honestly _forgotten_. "Oh, well, yeah. But, I think we'd better get this tree back home first. I mean... this thing could fall off at any minute. Someone could die."

Eli spent the entire car ride hoping desperately that the tree would stay on top of the car.

Fortunately, they made it back to the cabin without any casualties. Eli helped his mother cut the ropes off the tree and bring it down off the top of the car, and then they carried it inside. When EVA set it to lean up against the wall, something occurred to Eli.

"Wait... how are we supposed to get the thing to stand up?" he asked. 

EVA stopped and stared at the tree. "That's a good question. I guess — I guess I was supposed to buy some sort of _stand,_ " she said, wiping her forehead. "I didn't even think of that."

The trunk of the tree wasn't level enough to stand on its own, and no matter where they tried to lean the thing, it seemed to inevitably come crashing down to the ground in a horrible flurry of pines. 

Eventually, they just gave up. EVA stepped back to look down at the Christmas tree where it fell by the wall, laid out on its side. "This is fine," she concluded. "Well, I guess we may as well go back out to the laundromat now."

Eli sighed. 

 

***

 

Eli was alone when Ocelot returned early in the evening on Christmas Day. 

"I — just — what?" Ocelot floundered for words as he looked down at the tree lying on the floor of the cabin. His hands tried to settle on his hips, but he ended up raising them again in an incredulous gesture. "What am I looking at here?"

"Our Christmas tree," Eli answered, dry. 

Ocelot sighed heavily and brought a hand to his forehead. "Why is it on the floor."

"Because Mum didn't think to get a stand for it."

"And you decided to just leave it like this."

"Yep."

Ocelot didn't even know what to say. He seemed to conclude that the best he could do was move so that he wouldn't have to see it. "Where is EVA?"

Eli shrugged. "Out."

"Doing _what?_ It's Christmas day."

Eli shrugged again.

Ocelot shook his head and decided he may as well just sit down while he waited. Eli stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure of what to do or say to Ocelot in the meantime.

"So... have you been having a good time with your mom?" Ocelot asked. 

Eli cringed at the tepid attempt at smalltalk. For some reason, the weird sexual elephant in the room stank even more potently than it normally did. Eli averted his eyes and mumbled a non-response that Ocelot didn't even bother asking him to repeat.

The two of them sat there simmering in an embarrassed silence until, at long last, they heard the sound of EVA approaching the cabin. Both Eli and Ocelot looked up eagerly at the front door as the handle rattled.

At long last, the door swung open to reveal EVA on the other side. She smiled broadly as she shook the dusting of snow from her hair and proudly declared, "I got a ham!"

Eli looked down to the massive wrapped package in her arms. She had, indeed, procured a very large ham. 

"Uh..." Ocelot scrutinized the ham as if it were a live bomb. "How do you plan to cook it?"

EVA's mouth opened, but she stopped before answering the question to rush into the kitchen. Eli and Ocelot awkwardly followed after her and watched as she looked wildly around. "Oh!" she exclaimed, pleased. "We _do_ have an oven — oh, but it looks like one of those wood burning ones... I've never used one before. Adam, do you know how to use one of these things?"

"I... barely use real ovens," Ocelot said, grimacing.

EVA took only a moment to look disheartened before she optimistically concluded, "It can't be _that_ hard. Human society survived for thousands of years before we ever had electricity." She brought the ham over to the oven and set it on top of the stove while she experimentally opened the hatches below. "Hmm, I see... so the logs go in one of these, and then you put the food in the other one, and it heats just like an oven... that makes sense."

Ocelot looked carefully over her shoulder with great interest. "Yeah. Will the logs we have for the fireplace work?"

"I don't see why not... it's not like you need special wood for an oven."

"Do you?"

"I... I'm pretty sure you don't," EVA said. "Eli! Get us some logs!"

Eli, startled at suddenly being addressed, jumped to attention and hurried over to where a small supply of logs were stacked next to the fireplace in the living room. They were actually fairly sizeable — it didn't look like they'd actually _fit_ in the oven. He picked one up anyway and brought it over.

"Oh, that's way too big. We'll have to chop it," EVA said. "Adam, do you have a hatchet?"

Ocelot held his palms up. "Why would I have a hatchet?"

"I don't know, for chopping logs in the woods?" EVA said. Ocelot crossed his arms and adopted a defensive expression when she leered at him as if he were stupid. "There _must_ be an axe around here somewhere. Eli, go look for it, will you?"

Eli sighed, and left again to do as he was told. He looked all around the cabin, which did not have many places to conceivably store a hatchet, and came up empty handed. He went outside and did a circuit around the building to make sure there wasn't a shed or something he'd missed, but it didn't turn up there, either. Eventually, he accepted his defeat and went back inside.

"No luck?" EVA asked. Eli shook his head. "Damn. I guess we'll have to do this the hard way, then."

EVA pulled out one of her knives, put the log on the counter and began painstakingly attempting to cut it in half. Ocelot looked on with a perturbed expression.

"This doesn't seem like the best method of doing this," Ocelot said.

"Yeah?" EVA barked as she stabbed viciously into the wood and looked over her shoulder in irritation. "How would _you_ do it, then? If we don't have an axe, there's certainly not going to be a wedge and hammer lying around."

"I think if we took it out back and shot it it'd break up well enough."

"Are you _crazy?_ That could be dangerous, and someone might hear the gunfire."

Ocelot raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't want to watch you cut open a log for three hours, either."

"It'd go faster if you'd _help,_ " EVA groused, and resumed angrily sawing.

"Um..." Eli hesitantly interjected. "I could go out and get some of the sticks from outside instead."

EVA and Ocelot both stopped and looked at each other. EVA sighed, and pulled her knife out of the log. Ocelot turned away to drag his hand down his face.

So Eli went out to collect kindling. He at least knew how to do _that_ — he'd started more than his fair share of fires. There ground was a little bit damp from the remnants of recently melted snowfall, but he was able to find some sufficiently dry sticks on the trees by the edge of the woods.

EVA was fussing over him the moment he walked back through the door. "I was about to come look for you!"

"Mum, I was out there for maybe five minutes," Eli insisted.

Ocelot rolled his eyes and took the kindling from Eli's arms. "Let's just get this over with," he said, and shoved the bundle of sticks into the oven.

It took a bit of effort to actually get a fire started, but sure enough, the torture was finally over. EVA stood back from her work, triumphant, and said, "Okay, now how long should I put it in there for?"

Ocelot screwed up his face. "How the hell should I know? I've never done a _ham._ "

"Well, neither have I! Neither did the first person who ever cooked a ham and somehow we successfully managed it enough times that cooking hams has become a _thing_ that people do, and — I honestly don't think it's beyond our capabilities to figure this out."

Eli cleared his throat. "Well... you've got to heat it up until it's not raw anymore."

"Exactly," EVA said. "But it's so... meaty. It's not like a little forest animal on a stick where you get the outside done and you can tell from that you're good to go. How do we tell when it's not raw anymore?"

"It has something to do with the temperature of the meat," Ocelot contributed.

Eli snorted. "Nobody does it that way. You can tell just from looking at it."

"Yeah? Then what does a cooked ham look like?"

"What? You want me to _describe_ it? You just _know_ when it's cooked. It starts looking different. It's not fucking hard."

"But just because it looks 'cooked', however we're defining that, doesn't mean all of the bacteria in the meat has been killed. It could still be dangerous to consume," Ocelot said.

"I don't mind my meat a little rare," EVA said.

"Ewww, mum."

"What? What did I say?"

"Now, it's not like I'm that particular about meat bacteria counts — but you're a kid," Ocelot said, approximating an authoritative tone. "Who knows what might happen to your brain if you got, I don't know, pig bugs up there."

" _Pig bugs?_ " Eli repeated, incredulous. "That's not even a _thing._ "

"Have you ever been around a living, breathing pig? They absolutely have bugs. More bugs than you or I could count in our lives."

"But the bugs aren't _in the meat._ Don't be stupid."

"Who knows. Who knows what's in that meat. There could be worms in there. That's a thing, you know — worms that hatch in your body. In a pig's body."

"Well, they're going to be dead when we put the pig in the fire."

"Yes, but like I've been _saying,_ there's a certain _temperature_ you need to —"

"Oh my god," EVA interjected. "Look, I'm just going to put this thing in the oven until something happens."

"Fine, suit yourself. Don't blame me if you burn the cabin down," Ocelot said.

EVA groaned dramatically and pushed past Ocelot to pick up the ham, rip off the wrapping and shove into the oven compartment. 

There was nothing left to do with the ham after that but wait. Eli wasn't sure whether what EVA came up with to fill the time was better or worse than the uncomfortable smalltalk he'd been dreading.

"While we wait, why don't you open your presents?" EVA suggested.

Ocelot suddenly looked mildly uncomfortable, and Eli was no more sure of how to respond to that. "My... presents?"

EVA grinned broadly. "Of course. It's not Christmas without presents, right? Hold that thought," she said, and turned on her heel to rush out of the room. It wasn't long before she'd located what she was looking for and returned with a small plain box. She was beaming as she presented it to Eli, who was more than a little hesitant as he received it.

It was surprisingly heavy, and he admitted it _did_ make him curious. EVA watched him expectantly as he pulled off the lid. 

It was... a gun.

Ocelot began to incredulously protest the moment he caught a glimpse of what was inside. "Are you _insane?_ You can't give Eli a _gun._ "

EVA huffed and put her hands on her hips in indignation. "Why the hell not? He's my son, and I can give him whatever I like. He should be able to defend himself."

"You're not the one who has to _babysit_ him every damn day," Ocelot groused, snatching the box out of Eli's hands. "He'll shoot his damn eye out. He'll shoot _my_ damn eye out."

"Says the man who _literally_ shot someone's eye out."

Ocelot stared at EVA with a dry gaze as he quickly worked to disassemble the weapon. " _I've_ learned from _my_ mistakes," he said.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Before Ocelot could answer and further escalate the tiff, Eli interjected, "It's fine. I don't need any presents."

Unfortunately, that seemed to have quite the opposite effect. "Of course you do," EVA insisted. She then turned back on Ocelot with a mockery of a sweet smile and asked, "Adam, what did _you_ get for Eli?"

Ocelot looked back at EVA blankly. "I didn't know we were supposed to get him a present."

"It's _Christmas!_ "

" _I_ never got anything for Chri—"

"Yeah, that's _why_ we need to get him stuff for Christmas. So his life doesn't _suck_ like ours did, Adam."

"Speak for yourself. I enjoyed _my_ childhood."

Eli groaned loudly. "Will you two just stop _fighting?_ I don't _care_ about presents. It doesn't _matter._ "

For once, Eli and Ocelot were decidedly in agreement. EVA had no choice but to admit defeat. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "I'm doing my best," she said.

"Thanks, mum," Eli said. 

Well, that left them without anything to do for a while. In absence of any other ideas, EVA suggested that they could play a game of cards. Eli wasn't particularly enthused by the prospect, but it beat sitting around doing nothing, or worse, trying to have an actual conversation with Ocelot.

Before long, EVA decided that it was time to get up and check the ham. All three of them were clearly dreading what they were going to see inside — Ocelot and Eli stood back at a safe distance as EVA reached out to open the door to the oven with a cloth over her hand. She slowly turned the handle and pulled it back and...

EVA made a startled noise as liquid immediately began to splatter out of the oven onto the floor — Ocelot and Eli both jumped at _her_ in turn. "Shit!" EVA cursed. "It's leaking everywhere!"

Ocelot groaned and rushed to find something to soak up all of the liquid running out of the oven. EVA slammed it back shut in the interim, backing away from the spreading pool at the foot of the woodstove.

"Is — is it supposed to do that?" she asked, retreating further from a particularly adventurous tendril of ham drippings.

"I think you were supposed to put it on a tray or something," Eli said. 

The unstoppable tide of ham juice kept inching towards them until Ocelot returned with a towel and threw it down over the liquid. He worked to vigorously mop it up with his foot. "This is a disaster," he complained.

"Oh, shut up. It's just a bit of — meat water," EVA said, using her own foot to push the wet towel up against the base of stove when he was done. She tentatively reached out to open the stove again — this time, the rest of the juice dripped out onto the towel. She leaned in to peer at the meat.

"Well?" Ocelot said, expectantly looking over EVA's shoulder. "How is it?"

"I can't tell," EVA said. "Maybe the outsides look a little toasty. We could take it out and cut into it and see..."

"How do we even get it out? Is it safe to just... touch it?" Eli asked, watching with intent curiosity.

"Maybe if I just..." EVA took out her knife and reached out to poke at the meat. "Oh, it's hot if I even get near it, damn." She resolved to endure the heat, and dug the blade into the ham.

Ocelot was practically craning around EVA to get a look at the ham. Eli was oddly nervous about it. What if they _did_ burn the cabin down?

"Oh shit," EVA said, lifting up the meat with her knife. The bottom of it reluctantly parted from the oven, leaving flaky black bits of burnt residue in its wake. "It's just getting burned on the bottom."

"It must be too hot," Ocelot concluded.

"Well, it's not like we can turn down the temperature of a fire," EVA sighed. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Maybe if we took some of the sticks out it would be a colder fire."

"A colder fire? Are you listening to yourself?"

Ocelot threw his hands into the air. "Well, do _you_ have a better idea?"

EVA took a step back, rubbing her chin contemplatively. "Maybe we're just supposed to turn it over regularly, so it cooks evenly."

"I guess that makes sense," Ocelot said.

"Well, let's try taking it out first and seeing where we're at," EVA said. She leaned back in to stick the pig again, and once she'd gotten a good stab into the meat, pulled it up out of the oven. "Ah! It's hot and dripping on me!"

"No shit. Don't _hold_ it like that," Ocelot said — when he reached out to try to help, EVA batted his hands away and lurched over to slam the ham down right onto the kitchen counter.

EVA let the knife go and pulled away from the ham, hissing and shaking her hand gingerly. "I'm sure there's a better way to do this, but —"

Ocelot sighed dramatically and drew his own knife. "Here, let me," he said, pushing EVA aside to approach the ham with a predatory gaze. He used his gloved hand to safely steady the steaming meat, and cut into it as if he were trying to saw through a bone.

"Careful, don't _destroy_ it," EVA nagged.

Ocelot shot EVA a sharp look and withdrew his knife. He spread apart the cut with his fingers so they could get a better look. "It's still almost raw on the inside," he sighed.

"Bullshit! It was in there for at _least_ an hour."

"Maybe... the fire wasn't hot _enough,_ " Eli said.

"But if it's not hot enough, why was it burned on the bottom?" Ocelot asked.

EVA tried to run her fingers through her hair in exasperation and discovered halfway through that her hand was still covered in ham slop. "Ugghhhhh!! I hate this!!" 

As EVA was running to the washroom to wash the meat out of her hair, Ocelot picked up the ham and angrily shoved it back into the oven, burnt side up. He slammed the door closed behind it, and when he turned, gave Eli the nastiest look he'd ever seen.

"What did I do?" Eli snorted.

"I _hate_ pigs," Ocelot growled.

EVA eventually emerged from the washroom, her hair soaked and dripping wet. She looked very deflated without her modelesque coif. "Fuck it," she said. "Let's just... let's just go into town and pay someone to feed us."

Ocelot sighed and rubbed at his temples. "It's Christmas day, EVA. There aren't going to be any restaurants open."

"I'm sure there will be a Chinese place open. I mean, that's — that's what Jews do, right?"

"Are there even any Jews in England?" Ocelot asked.

"There must be..."

"Yeah, there are a lot of them," Eli said. "Like, a few dozen million, I think."

"Then there _must_ be at least _one_ Chinese restaurant," EVA said. "Come on, let's go."

 

***

 

Perhaps surprisingly, Christmas didn't turn out to be so bad after all.

After asking people in the street (while Adam and Eli looked on from the car, embarrassed), EVA was able to ascertain that the town did, indeed, have one Chinese restaurant. She managed to drive them to it with all of the cobbled together directions, and they were fortunate enough to enjoy a spectacularly cheap and greasy meal in the small restaurant. It tasted a bit like dying, but it was nice. 

It was getting late in the evening when they made it back. The three of them finally went about cleaning up after the disastrous ham, and Adam convinced EVA to toss the pathetic Christmas tree out back so it'd stop somehow spreading pine needles all over the cabin like an inescapable disease.

Once all the cleaning was done, EVA insisted on seeing Eli off to bed. Eli protested, claiming that he wasn't tired at all, but EVA was having none of it. She had to be sure her son was getting enough sleep — she made him pee and brush his teeth and then locked him in the bedroom.

Adam had gone missing from the cabin when EVA went looking for him. She found him sat outside in a rickety wooden chair, rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers. The heat of his breath ghosted into the chilly outdoor air.

"Aren't you cold?" EVA asked, rubbing her own arms as she stepped out onto the porch.

"I'm fine," he answered.

EVA walked to the railing and leaned against it as she looked out into the darkness of the surrounding woods. It was still and quiet all around them, with nothing but their own breathing to break the silence. "This is... nice," she said.

Neither of them said anything for a time. Eventually, Adam sighed, "Yeah."

EVA turned, and crossed the porch to snatch the cigar out of Adam's fingers. He seemed momentarily startled until she asked, "Got a light?"

Adam climbed to his feet and reached back to fish his lighter out of his pocket. EVA put the cigar to her lips as he lifted it and struck the flint. 

EVA took a long drag of the cigar, and Adam replaced the lighter where he'd found it. Before she blew the smoke from her mouth, EVA reached out to take Adam by the back of the neck and press her lips to his.

His immediate reflex was to stiffen and freeze at her touch, but he quickly relaxed and allowed her to pass the smoke into his mouth. EVA lingered like that until Adam slowly released it back into the chilly air.

EVA pulled back, letting her fingers trail along the side of Adam's face as she looked into his eyes. He had a cold, hard stare, but EVA liked to think he saved a little softness for her.

When Adam took the cigar from her fingers, she turned to stand back by the rail. "I wish I loved you."

Adam took his time with the cigar. He drew in, and breathed out. "Mm," is all he said.

"It wouldn't be bad, to live like this. Just walk away once and for all."

When EVA looked back over her shoulder, Adam was sat back in his chair, wearing the slightest of smiles. He gazed at her with guarded eyes. "We could never do that," he said.

EVA laughed. "No, we couldn't."

"How is he?"

"He's..." EVA turned back to the woods. There was a comfort in staring into the darkness. "He gets further away every day."

Adam said nothing.

"You're lucky, in a way."

"How so?"

"He never shared himself with you like... like he did with me. I know you hate it," she said. "But now..."

"But now?"

"I don't know." EVA turned around, and leaned back against the railing. "I think it might be easier to have never had it, than to have it and lose it."

EVA could tell from Adam's face that he didn't agree, but he didn't voice his dissent. EVA sighed. "I don't even know when it happened — or when it started to happen — it's just — one day I looked at him, and... he didn't look back. Not the way that he used to. I don't think that he can, not anymore."

Adam wasn't looking at her anymore, either.

"But it never gets easier for us, does it?" EVA said. "Not for any of us. God, I can't believe how many of us there are."

Adam laughed. It was a hollow, forced sound that lacked any hint of mirth. It made her sad. Sometimes she thought she wished John would love Adam as much as Adam wished he did.

"There's nothing to be done about it," Adam said. It had taken him a long time to reach that point — either peace, or tired resignation. EVA wasn't sure whether seeing that desperate fire gone from him was relieving or pitiful. Her heart never stopped breaking for him, all the same. "In the end, whatever he feels for us... it's irrelevant. We'll do what he wants of us, and follow him into hell when he leads us there. It's all we can do. It's what we are."

"I wish you were wrong," EVA said, her face falling into a frown. "This is so much better, isn't it? We should be happier this way."

"Eli isn't John." Adam took another pull of the cigar, held it in his mouth, and exhaled. "He never will be."

"He shouldn't have to be."

"But he does, doesn't he?"

EVA pushed off the railing. It was getting too cold to stand staying outside any longer. "You should come back inside before you get sick," she said.

"I will." He was looking back at the cigar in his hands again. "In a little while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends part 1 of my fan fiction. Part 2 is where shit starts getting really wild, so I would encourage you to revisit my very comprehensive tagging for content warnings. It has been a very long journey and fairly tame thus far, but I assure you that this really is exactly what it says on the tin.


	15. Can't Stop

**6 January, 1988. St. Francis.**

Eli returned to St. Francis with a singular purpose. 

If Ocelot was a dead end, then he was going to have to find some other avenue for information on Kugler. He couldn't be sure how far he would get with the faculty, or even that they would know anything, but he needed to start somewhere.

His French teacher definitely knew _something_ about what was going on — Eli saw it in her eyes the night of the game, when she lead him to the headmaster's tower but could bring herself no further than the foot of his stairs. But Miss Borrel was skittish like a prey animal, and he was sure that she would turn tail and run if she so much as suspected that Eli had ulterior motivations.

The only other potential mark was Dr. Thomas. He was terribly disguised, all things considered. He certainly didn't have the demeanor of a teacher, and his purported biography was definitely unusual — Eli wasn't surprised to meet a veteran, but a veteran from _SAS?_ If Dr. Thomas _wasn't_ involved somehow, Eli would be shocked.

It didn't take long for him to find an opening. Dr. Thomas's class on Wednesday was the last before Eli was let out on lunch break, so he lingered after the period bells chimed and all the other students quickly rushed themselves out of the room.

Dr. Thomas couldn't have been _nearly_ so old as he acted, but all of his movements were ponderous and he comported himself like someone who was pained by everything involved with the task of living. So it wasn't really much of a reach when Eli went up to the teacher's desk as Thomas packed up and asked, "Do you need any help with that, sir?"

Dr. Thomas immediately responded to the attention with clearly telegraphed suspicion. Eli couldn't really blame him, he supposed — Eli wasn't exactly an eager participant in his class, and he'd certainly never seen Eli say anything _polite_ before. "You look like you're dying, you're so old. I'm sick of watching you suffer," Eli added, hoping the casual insult would bring him closer to his natural character.

That seemed to ease Thomas's mind. With _phenomenally_ begrudging reluctance, Dr. Thomas released a rattling sigh and passively allowed Eli to assist him in gathering his things. Eli offered to carry his heavy leather bag, and handed him his cane when he moved to stand. 

"I've got problems with my back now and then," Dr. Thomas grumbled. Eli could tell that Thomas was torn between a strong sense of pride and an enthusiastic enjoyment of complaining. Eli could empathize. "I'm going down to get some lunch before I go back up to my office."

Thomas lead him downstairs and across the yard to the dining hall. With Eli in tow, he had no compunctions about muscling through to the front of the queue; none of the students looked surprised at all, nor dared voice a complaint. Eli followed Thomas's lead and took a carry-out box, and picked out the most edible looking bits of food on offer among the garbage that was the lunch line. 

On their way back out of the cafeteria, Eli was surprised to spot _Ocelot_ loitering by the queue — and, evidently, Ocelot him. Dr. Thomas was moving as hastily as his shoddy legs could carry him, though, so Eli could do nothing but hurry along as Ocelot leered at him with narrowed and suspicious eyes. 

Thomas headed next for the administration building, right next door to humanities. The ladies in reception waved them through with cheery smiles.

Eli couldn't even imagine what was _in_ this man's bag, it was so heavy. He had to keep switching hands to hold it when his arm grew tired. He was surprised the old man was even _capable_ of carrying it, especially when they began to ascend the practically endless flight of stairs up to Thomas's office. Eli felt like he was in worse shape than Thomas looked when they made it to the fourth floor.

Dr. Thomas dug his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door to his tiny office and let Eli inside. Eli was immensely relieved to be able to put down the heavy bag. Thomas released a heavy sigh and hobbled through the clutter of his office to take a seat behind his small desk and flip open his carry-out.

There wasn't really anywhere for Eli to... sit. The office was honestly the size of a closet, and messy as hell. Eli wanted to invite himself to a bit of a lunch date, but —

"Well? What are you still doing here?" Dr. Thomas asked, staring at Eli expectantly as the boy lingered awkwardly in the center of the room with his box of food in hand.

"I was hoping I might be able to eat with you," Eli said, before quickly adding, "Sir."

Well, clearly, that was just the most ridiculous thing Dr. Thomas had ever heard. " _Why?_ "

Eli hadn't thought it out that far. He had to blurt out the first thing he could come up with. "Well... you know, I haven't got any friends, really, so, uh — I'm always eating alone —"

"Weren't you on the rugby team?"

"Uh. Yeah. But that's over now, so —"

Dr. Thomas grumbled something under his breath. "For God's sake, just come out with whatever it is that you _want_ from me, boy."

Eli affected a look of surprise. "W-what do you mean?"

Thomas clunkily brandished his hand to gesture towards the bookcase on the other end of the room. "Come off it. We both know you've no interest in being my damn _friend._ There's a folding chair shoved behind there. Get it out and sit down."

Eli hesitated for a moment, but turned to check behind the shelves for a chair. There was indeed one wedged back there, and with a bit of effort, he was able to dislodge it, fold it open and set himself down across from Thomas at his desk. The desk was much too small for him to actually put anything down on it himself, so he just set his box on his lap.

"I don't want anything from you, really," Eli insisted. He'd need some time to consider his approach to asking about Mary and Joachim — it might take a _few_ lunches to get Thomas comfortable enough to spill any details. "I just want to talk to somebody who's not an idiot."

"I wasn't aware you considered me _not an idiot,_ given how you act in my class."

"Yeah, well. You're not so bad, I guess."

Dr. Thomas snorted and began to eat.

Perhaps explaining why the man ate alone, Dr. Thomas's table manners left much to be desired. He chewed loudly with his mouth open, making no effort to disguise the saliva-heavy smacking of his lips and tongue. Eli looked at Dr. Thomas's mouth and wondered how it'd feel to have his cock in it.

Eli was immediately whiplashed by the sudden intrusive thought. He tore his eyes away, face burning, utterly _baffled_ by where it even came from — Dr. Thomas certainly did not even _approach_ attractive — but it'd left him with a fucking boner all the same.

As Eli shifted uncomfortably to conceal his erection, Dr. Thomas looked up. With a raised eyebrow, his face looked even more comically lopsided than it already was. "What?" he asked, voice muffled by a mouthful of half-chewed food.

"It's nothing," Eli quickly insisted.

Evidently, Eli's attempts to conceal himself were only managing to draw more attention to it. Dr. Thomas's gaze drifted down, but all he did was roll his eyes and resume chewing. "When I was your age I got one looking at a traffic light. Failed my road test."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Eli had to think of something else to talk about besides his own fucking dick. After self-consciously shoving some of the chips he'd gotten into his mouth, he asked, "Did you like being in the military?"

Dr. Thomas regarded the question with suspicion. "Didn't have much choice in the matter, but it was something to do. Why?"

"Well... I'm pretty sure I'm not going to go onto A levels. So... I have to think about what I'm going to do, when I'm done here."

It honestly wasn't even really a lie. When Eli thought about his future beyond St. Francis, his mind drew a complete blank. If surpassing his father was no longer something he could work towards, what did he have? What was he going to _do?_

And, well, he only really had the one skill. 

"You want to enlist?" Dr. Thomas asked.

"Maybe," Eli said.

Dr. Thomas appeared to think for a while as he chewed. When he swallowed down the mouthful, he said, "Being in the military takes a lot of discipline. No one in the army is going to suffer the kind of shit you pull here, boy."

"I _know_ that," Eli said. "I'm not _stupid._ I can _get away_ with it here."

Eli might have doubted his ability to be a follower in the past, but after playing on the rugby team, maybe it wouldn't be completely impossible for him to acclimate to an environment like the military... and it was just a matter of biding his time until he worked his way into a position of command, anyway. He was a natural born leader and the world would see to it that he got what he deserved, if he had a little patience.

"Well, I guess it's something to consider," Dr. Thomas said. "I've never been much of a patriot. I've not got any rousing speeches for you about national duty or self-sacrifice. It's a job, and I was good at it. Maybe you would be too. Hell if I know."

"Yeah. I'll... think about it."

Dr. Thomas was just about finishing up with his lunch, and Eli didn't have much of an appetite for what he had left anyway. Eli rose when the old teacher did. "Want me to help you get on to your next class?" Eli offered.

The schoolmaster made an inexplicably disgruntled noise. "I... whatever. Fine."

Eli went along with Thomas with his fucking dead weight of a bag and helped him set up for the start of the next period. With that, Eli was left with no more excuse to hang around the teacher, and had go on to his own class. 

The rest of the school day passed sluggishly. Eli felt restless and keyed up. He'd been feeling like this for a while, actually — now that he was no longer on a sports team, he found himself with an excess of energy with nowhere to direct it. He was frequently angry, eager to fight, and, frankly, horny. When class finally let out, he went straight back to his dorm. 

Eli decided to masturbate. This was about his only realistic method of releasing _any_ of his pent up frustrations, so he was doing it a _lot,_ lately. It was kind of ridiculous. Sometimes it felt like he was coasting minute to minute just waiting for his next opportunity to beat off. He'd had to skip his usual lunch wank to cozy up to Dr. Thomas, so he was feeling a lot like what he imagined being a strung out heroin addict must've been like.

He threw himself onto his bed and got to work. It wasn't like Eli had any access to porn out here, so he had to make do with his imagination. It was the same routine every time: he'd do his best to imagine the tits of some famous actress or another, like, you know, Marilyn Monroe, or something _normal_ — but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to places that left him feeling varying degrees of dirty. Sometimes he thought about having Harding suck his cock in the locker room, and sometimes he pictured Ocelot bending him over his desk and fucking him in the ass. Sometimes he imagined what it'd be like to have his father rape him.

Eli had been in such a hurry to clear his head and get it over with that he hadn't even thought about Samuel, who, naturally, picked just that day to muster the courage to _not_ knock before letting himself back into their room.

When Samuel realized what was going _on,_ he immediately froze in shock. Where a more courteous man might've thought to leave the fucking room, Samuel stood petrified, his eyes blown wide, staring _directly_ at Eli's cock in his hand. His mouth fell open in his stupefication. 

"Jesus Christ," Eli exclaimed. "The _one_ fucking time you don't knock!"

"Sorry," Samuel blurted out. But he wouldn't fucking _move,_ or even _look_ anywhere else. "I — I —"

"Ugh, what are you standing there for? Go into the fucking washroom until I'm done, you complete fool."

It seemed to take a while for the words to even register in Samuel's head, but he eventually did what he was told and rushed over to shut himself into the washroom. Eli breathed a sigh in relief. 

Honestly, Eli considered forcing Samuel to suck him off or something. It'd probably be better than his hand, and he couldn't imagine that Samuel would put up particularly much of a fight... but the kid was just so fucking _pathetic._ Eli may as well spread peanut butter on his dick and get a dog to lick it off. It was beneath him.

So, Eli simply finished himself off. It didn't take long. When he was done, he put himself away, got up, and opened the door to the washroom. "Get out, I need to clean up," he said. 

Samuel was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, looking like a man just returned from war. He looked up with a startled expression when Eli barged in, but he obeyed the instruction. He always did.

 

***

 

**11 January, 1988. Ocelot's office.**

The first thing out of Ocelot's mouth during his next counseling session with Eli didn't come as a surprise. "I saw you with Sidney the other day," he said.

" _Who?_ "

"Dr. Thomas. Your history teacher."

Eli made a show of thinking about it. "I don't recall."

"Don't be smart with me, Eli," Ocelot said, tone short. "What are you up to?"

"Do I have to be _up_ to something to talk to my teacher?"

" _You_ certainly do, yes."

Well, Ocelot's oddly heightened suspicion certainly seemed to confirm that Eli was on the right track. It was just a matter of throwing Ocelot off his trail — if Ocelot wanted _up to something,_ that was just what he was going to get. "I'm going to fuck him," Eli said, smiling smugly.

" _What?_ "

Eli easily leaned back into his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "I can tell that he wants me," he lied. "And since _you_ want to pretend you're too _good_ for me, I've got to get my needs met elsewhere."

Ocelot was clearly so baffled he didn't even know how to respond to the things that Eli was saying. Eli laughed, "Wow. Are you _jealous?_ "

The features of Ocelot's face scrunched into a phenomenally exasperated expression. "No, Eli," he sighed. "Why Dr. Thomas? Can't you find someone your own age to experiment with?"

That immediately darkened Eli's mood. Ugh. "You might recall that I _tried_ that," he said. "I'm not going through that again."

Eli hated thinking about Harding. Even nearly a month since he'd last even _seen_ him, the slightest _allusion_ to Harding made something dreadful drop into his stomach. He couldn't believe that he was still so affected by what happened, and it made him angry and frustrated with himself. Eli moved to a defensive posture, darkly scowling with his arms crossed over his chest.

Ocelot squeezed his eyes shut, pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed again. "Why don't you see if Samuel will help you with this problem?"

"I don't want to fuck Samuel," Eli replied. But when he thought about it, the suggestion itself was kind of strange. It wasn't like Eli ever spoke about Samuel during their sessions. "What makes you think Samuel wants to fuck me either?"

"I'm just trying to suggest to you better options than soliciting sex from adult men, Eli."

Eli hadn't even intended to take the conversation back to Ocelot, but now that the path was before him, it was difficult not to take it. His mouth felt dry. "If you want me to back off Dr. Thomas, all you have to do is —"

Ocelot's didn't even let Eli finish before he quickly and forcefully responded. " _No,_ Eli."

" _Why?_ " Eli complained. It was getting ridiculous, honestly. Eli wanted it, and he could tell Ocelot wanted it — but he wouldn't even take the excuse to keep him away from one of Kugler's cronies? When Ocelot refused to humor his demand for explanation, Eli practically pouted and said, "Fine, be that way. But then I'll keep going until I get what I want from Dr. Thomas."

"Whatever signs you think you're reading into, you're just going to embarrass yourself. Sidney isn't gay _or_ interested in children."

"But _you_ are," Eli said.

Eli could tell that Ocelot was just about reaching his limit. Ocelot dragged a hand down his face and groaned, "I'm not _interested in children_ —"

"Bullshit," Eli shot back. "I _know_ you're attracted to me. You _said_ it."

"I _never_ said th—"

"You think about fucking me when you jack off, don't you?"

Ocelot looked even paler than usual, and verging on angry. "Eli —"

Eli smiled. He was surprised by how bold and unashamed he felt. For once, he was the one with the upper hand. " _I_ think about you when I do it, you know. I like to think about you choking me while you fuck me in the —"

And that was it. Ocelot suddenly stood up out of his chair. "Get the fuck out of my office, Eli."

Eli laughed maliciously. "Was that too close to home? Do you want to choke me right now, daddy?"

With a fragile veneer of calm, Ocelot circled around his desk and grabbed Eli by the arm. Before Eli could come up with another uncomfortable insinuation, Ocelot roughly shoved him from the office and loudly slammed the door behind him. When Eli tried the doorknob, it was locked.

Eli made a point of laughing loudly enough for Ocelot to hear before he walked back to his dorm, triumphant.


	16. Sidewalk Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY, HERE WE FUCKING GO!!

**15 January, 1988. Wolf Hall.**

The dormitory awoke in the small hours of the morning to the sound of sirens.

Eli jolted out of his bed, startled by the shrill and droning noise of the alarms resounding through the building. His sleep-addled brain's immediate assumption was that he was under attack, but when he wildly cast his gaze around the room, he found no one with him but Samuel, who looked equally confused. 

"What — what's going on?" Eli asked, pulling himself out of his bed. Fortunately, Samuel had long passed the point of being fazed by Eli's refusal to sleep with clothes.

"I don't know," the other boy answered. He remained sat in his bed, incurious, when Eli moved to the window to peer outside.

It was too dark. Eli couldn't see shit.

Eli whipped around in surprise when the door to their room suddenly opened to reveal the very harried looking housemistress. She immediately recoiled upon seeing Eli's indecency. "Boys, y— _Good heavens!_ "

Eli made no attempt to cover himself; he simply crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Don't come let yourself into my room in the dead of night if you don't want to see my cock, lady," he said.

The housemistress covered her own eyes to spare herself. " _Goodness._ When you've dressed yourself, you can come gather in the commons with the rest of us," she said, quickly pulling away to slam the door.

Eli rolled his eyes and picked his trousers up from the ground. As Eli was clumsily pulling them over his legs, Samuel got up to retrieve a neatly folded set of clean clothes and change in the washroom. Samuel was nicely dressed and ready by the time Eli managed to put two socks together.

Despite all odds, Eli eventually succeeded in dressing his body in clothing, and the two of them went out into the hall. Eli was a little hesitant to head over to the commons — if all the boys were gathering, then that surely meant he'd have to see...

Well, Samuel headed off without him, so Eli had no choice but to follow along.

"—nd we want you all to _stay calm,_ " the housemaster was saying as the pair entered the commons with a growing group of boys. "I assure you there's noth—"

"Is there a fire?" one of the boys asked, sounding panicked.

"No, Sean, we would've evacuated if this were the fire alarms. I'm sure they're just testing the systems for —"

Another boy spoke up. Eli recognized him as Patel. "If it's not the fire alarm, what _is_ it? Why aren't we being evacuated?"

"Are we under attack?"

"The alarm is hurting my head!"

The housemaster raised his voice over the building din. "It's very important that you not panic," he said. "If there is indeed danger on campus, you must stay safely inside. We will investigate shutting off the alarms once we're secured."

The common area was already growing crowded; it was all standing room only by the time Eli and Samuel arrived, so they found a spot by the back wall to sit down. After telling the students about all of the nothing he knew, the housemaster bid them to be silent and set out to round up more of the straggling boys. In absence of a nattering adult to barrage with questions, the commons settled into a nervous quiet beneath the alarms.

Eli couldn't help but scan the crowd, his heart beating quickly in his chest. He saw Housman and Abbey, whispering to each other; he saw Gilliam somehow passed out in an armchair despite the sirens; he even saw Barker, free of splint or crutch, with his face pressed to the window. He wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when Harding was nowhere to be found.

It wouldn't be long until the housemaster located him and brought him down, though. "We've got to sneak out of here," Eli whispered by Samuel's ear.

Samuel turned his head to the right, gazing unerringly into Eli's eyes. "Do we?"

Eli nodded. "Yeah. There's something going on that they don't want us to see. And I'd bet you it has something to do with Mary." He neglected to mention his trepidating regarding Harding.

Samuel's mouth formed a thin line. "I don't think we should get involved, Snake."

"Why not?" Eli asked. "They've surely locked down the building, and they'll bar us all into the commons soon. If we don't go now, we might never know. Just come with me."

Samuel fell silent, face carefully devoid of any expression, before he looked away. When Eli followed Samuel's gaze, he found several of the boys in the commons giving the two of them odd looks. Eli immediately bristled. What did they think was so interesting? 

Before Eli could have an angered outburst at the unwanted scrutiny, Samuel gently touched his hand and moved to stand. He went to leave the common room without a word; Eli had no choice but to hurriedly follow after.

"Where are you going?" Eli demanded, keeping close behind.

"Back to the room."

"I'm going to sneak out of here whether you come with me or not," Eli declared in a petulant tone.

"I know."

"Then —"

"I'm going to get my key, so we can get into the second floor room, and climb out."

"Oh."

Eli shut his mouth and followed Samuel the rest of the way back to their room.

Once Samuel had found his key, he ducked right back out of the room and headed for the stairwell. There were kids moving in between rooms, opening and shutting doors, talking in hushed whispers in the halls as the housemistress tried to corral everyone to the commons — nobody noticed them as they descended, nor when Samuel let himself into one of the first years' rooms on the second floor.

Thankfully, the boys living in this room had already emptied out to somewhere else, so they were unimpeded when Samuel headed for the window and lifted it open. Without any hesitation, he was already climbing outside — Eli hurried to keep pace. 

The loud alarms, which seemed to be ringing through every building on the campus, disguised the noise of their descent. There was no one around the back, but that could easily change, so the two of them quickly found cover behind a cluster of nearby bushes so that they could regroup.

Eli peeked around the bushes for any sign of approach, but everything appeared to be clear still. "We'll climb back up the faculty tower, and find Mary," he whispered.

Samuel seemed uncomfortable with the entire plan, but offered no further complaints. He simply followed along when Eli made his move.

They ran from building to building in the cover of darkness, careful to check their surroundings. Eli saw no sign of life until they approached the central yard; he pulled Samuel aside around the corner of a building to investigate the scene. 

Before them was a baffling tableau. It was beyond what Eli had even imagined; bodies dressed in spec ops gear littered the yard, lain in their own pools of blood — it seemed that only two figures remained among the carnage. Miss Borrel, Eli's French teacher with the button nose and the voice of a delicate teenager, was standing with her hair in disarray, covered in dirt, and a silenced gun in her hands pointed right at her assailant.

The apparent intruder was an older woman, probably in her 50s or 60s, dressed in a smart suit without a speck of the dirt or blood that surrounded her. Miss Borrel was heaving from shortness of breath, but the other woman was stood with a calm composure and a smile on her face that read even from a distance as a cold threat. 

"Put down the gun, Valentine," the woman warned, taking a step forward. While Miss Borrel's arms were clearly trembling, the intruder showed no sign of fear or hesitation.

"Stay back!" Borrel shouted. Eli noticed then that there was a dark spot blooming from the front of her blouse — blood.

The other woman paid no heed. She advanced, slowly, her fingers linked serenely in front of her. "Come now, dear. You know better than anyone that there is no use in that."

"If you take one more step, I'll — I'll —"

"You'll, what? Shoot me?" the woman asked, paused almost mockingly in her tracks.

Miss Borrel fired.

The attacker moved faster than just about any human Eli had ever seen; she dodged to the side and the bullet whizzed past her ear, and in a motion so swift he nearly missed it she had her own gun out, readied and shot back. The sound of the single gunshot rang clearly through the night air — even the alarms wouldn't have disguised the nature of that noise.

Eli watched with wide eyes as Miss Borrel crumpled to the ground, her pistol falling from her limp hand. The woman returned her piece to where it had been hidden beneath her conservative blue jacket, and stepped over the twitching corpse of Miss Borrel without any hint of remorse. Not a strand of hair had gone out of place from her meticulously styled coif.

"Holy shit," Eli whispered, looking over to where Samuel was sat hidden beside him. He noticed just then that Samuel had been holding onto his arm. Samuel's face looked pale, but he had nothing to say. 

Eli turned his head back, breathing out in a heavy gust. Miss Borrel lay where she'd fallen; The other woman was walking in a leisurely pace towards the faculty quarters — towards _Mary._

"We've got to — to _stop_ her," Eli blurted out. "She's going to kill —"

Eli never saw the blow to his head that knocked him out.

 

***

 

Eli came to fighting.

The moment he returned to consciousness, his instincts told him to kick and flail but he found himself restrained — his arms were tied behind his back, and his torso and ankles were both tightly bound to the chair he was sitting on. His head and neck and wrists ached.

"He's awake," came from the unmistakable voice of his history teacher, Dr. Thomas. 

Eli's head whipped around until his eyes focused enough to located the source of the voice; they were sat in a broom-closet sized office somewhere in the school, lit only by the pale dim moonlight that filtered in through a tiny window at the far end of the room. While Eli was restrained, Dr. Thomas and Samuel were both sat free in their chairs, though their demeanors seemed as dark as the shadows that concealed them.

Shrill alarms still sounded through the campus. The sound felt dulled in this office, but they were terribly grating all the same.

"What the fuck?" Eli barked, straining at the ropes around his body. It was no use — they were expertly tied. The only thing he accomplished was hurting himself.

Dr. Thomas gave Eli a tired look. "Sorry, lad. Knew you'd give me trouble, so I just took you out."

Eli gritted his teeth in anger. "Why only _me?_ Why have you not tied _Samuel_ up?"

Samuel and Dr. Thomas both looked at each other, and then back to Eli with a similarly blank expression. " _He's_ not going to knock me off my bum leg for keeping him here," Thomas answered.

As the immediate urgency of his situation passed and he began to calm, the events of the past night suddenly resurfaced at the forefront of Eli's mind. "Someone is attacking the school," he said.

Dr. Thomas's eyes darkened. He looked down to the floor and his gnarled hands. Neither Samuel nor the teacher said anything, but Dr. Thomas looked so dour that Eli could only draw the conclusion that it was true. Eli growled in frustration.

"Let me go," Eli demanded. "Untie me right now."

Dr. Thomas snorted loudly. "All right, sure. I'll get right on that."

"I saw her going for the faculty building," Eli snarled. He resumed straining at his bonds, in spite of the pain and futility. "She's going to kill that girl. Someone has got to stop her, you complete fool!"

"Margaret is not going to _kill_ Mary, but she may kill _you_. I'm keeping you safe, imbecile."

" _Margaret?_ You _know_ her?" Eli said.

Dr. Thomas looked at Eli blankly. "You didn't recognize...?"

"Recognize _who?_ "

Dr. Thomas just laughed and shook his head. "Nevermind."

Eli looked to Samuel. Furious, he demanded, "Samuel, do you know? Who was that?"

Samuel seemed reluctant to answer, looking between Eli and Dr. Thomas with a troubled expression. "I —"

"Don't tell him, kid," Dr. Thomas said.

"No! Samuel, tell me right now!"

Samuel answered as soon as Eli commanded him. "The Prime Minister," he said. "Margaret Thatcher."

Dr. Thomas sighed heavily, cradling his head in his hands. Eli's mouth fell open. "What the _fuck?_ "

Samuel's gaze drifted down to the floor.

Eli didn't pay much attention to politics, but he knew who Margaret Thatcher was, _obviously._ Maybe he just didn't make the connection at first, because you typically didn't see the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom standing amidst a pile of slaughtered bodies. Not, like, _literally._ But when he thought on it, the resemblance was undeniable — that woman certainly had Margaret Thatcher's _hair._

"I just watched Margaret Thatcher shoot my French teacher in the face," Eli stated, utterly disbelieving. "That — that _happened?_ I didn't just imagine it when you beat me over the head?"

"Yes, it did," Dr. Thomas reluctantly admitted.

Resigned to the fact that Dr. Thomas wouldn't lift a finger to release him, Eli turned next to Samuel. He began with vicious castigation. "Samuel, you coward! Why won't you get up and fight?!"

"I'm not a coward," Samuel all but whispered. "It's not our place to intervene."

"Not our place? Mary and Joachim —"

Thomas's eyes opened so wide that Eli could clearly see the false glass in his socket. "Where did you hear that name, boy?" 

"Nowhere," Eli quickly answered. 

"It's very important that you tell me where you heard that. I am not playing a game with you."

Dr. Thomas was so unsettled that it itself unsettling. Eli reluctantly admitted, "... From Mary."

The old man cursed and pulled himself to his feet. He paced aimlessly to the door of the office and then back, mumbling to himself. "Shit. You're just a fucking kid," he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before he made a difficult decision. "Don't tell _anyone_ you know that name. Do you understand me?"

Eli narrowed his eyes. "And what if I do?"

Dr. Thomas answered without hesitation. "He will kill you."

" _Jesus._ What the fuck is going _on_ at this school?"

"When I tell him what happened with you," Dr. Thomas said, dodging the question entirely, "I'll tell him it was simple delinquency. You were flouting the rules. I found you just when you escaped your hall. You saw _nothing_ tonight. Is that clear?"

Before Eli could open his mouth to argue, the alarms died out. He'd gotten so used to the sound that the sudden silence felt deafening. They rang faintly in his ears well after fading away. "Is it over?" he asked.

Dr. Thomas trudged over to the office window and took a look outside. "I haven't a clue what's just happened," he said. "But if the alarms are off, one of them has... I need to get you back into your residence before either of them comes looking for me."

The old teacher begrudgingly fished a switchblade out of his pocket and circled around Eli to begin cutting away at the ropes binding him to the chair. Eli wrenched himself free the moment the ropes were cut, muttering unpleasantly to himself as he rubbed at his raw wrists. 

"Now, come along. I'll take you both back," Dr. Thomas grumbled as he hobbled over to pick up his cane from where he left it by the door. Samuel quickly rose to follow him, and Eli went after with clearly sour displeasure. 

Eli was surprised by the quickness and purpose with which the old man was able to move; the moment they were out of the building, his entire composure seemed to shift. His disability appeared to be little obstacle in the proper mindset — his cane came to look more like a fluid extension of his natural body's movements than a cripple's aid.

The bodies were still lying in the yard when they passed.

No one stopped them in their trip back to the residence halls; the next person they met was a teacher Eli didn't recognize set guard at the front door of Wolf Hall. Dr. Thomas ignored his suggestion that they should go around back, and walked them straight up to the concerned tweed-clad schoolmaster.

"Sidney, are you all right?" the teacher worriedly asked. "What are these boys doing outside?"

Dr. Thomas made a sudden return to his affectation of frailty. He leaned more heavily on his cane and exaggerated his limp. "Looks like they went and snuck out when the sirens started going, but I caught them just outside and kept them safe until it was clear."

It was clear that not all of the faculty was in on Joachim's web of lies. The teacher looked very confused and nervous. "Have you any idea what's been going on?"

Thomas looked to the kids and shook his head. "Let's get them on up inside, first," he said.

Eli begrudgingly allowed himself to be herded into the hall with Samuel. It seemed that in the panic, none of the faculty was particularly concerned with disciplining them — they just made sure that they got safely back into their room. 

Behind closed doors, Eli erupted. "Margaret _fucking_ Thatcher!"

Samuel was a good listener, as always. He sat on his bed and watched Eli with a careful eye as he paced and gesticulated theatrically.

"The Prime Minister is Mary's mother, isn't she? Ha, no wonder Mary's so cross about it. Well, she's probably _dead_ now."

Eli meant to conclude the thought with an amused detachment, but was surprised to discover he actually felt a little mad about it. It was very peculiar feeling — it wasn't as if he _liked_ Mary, or even particularly cared about her existence. Maybe it was just because she was the only half-interesting thing that'd ever happened to him at this school.

Samuel spoke up for the first time in what seemed like hours. "Eli, it's... late."

Eli looked up at the clock. It was close to four. "Ugh, but I'm too wired to sleep."

"Well, I'm not. And I'd like to get some rest before school."

"Surely they won't make us go to class after someone's been _murdered._ "

Eli thought that this was the first time he'd ever heard Samuel _laugh._ "Just _watch_ them," he said.

 

***

 

Eli did, indeed, end up watching them send him right back to class.

All of the students were forced to gather for assembly as if it were just like any other day — and all of them were groggy eyed and utterly exhausted. They stood and waited for the chaplain to come lead the morning prayer, but someone else arrived in his stead.

Headmaster Joseph Kugler took the stage and came to stand at the podium before the crowd. His face was locked into a grave and heavy expression that spread a nervous mood through the large group of children — he cut through the building chatter with a solemn voice. "As all of you are no doubt aware, there was an incident on campus in the early hours this morning," Kugler began. "While we are unable to divulge the complete details at this time, we presently believe that St. Francis was the target of a heist."

Eli clicked his tongue and shook his head, but the crowd around him burst into commotion. They calmed again when Kugler called for their silence.

"The criminals intended to make off with a number of cultural relics St. Francis proudly retains, including a J.M.W. Turner original..."

_Ugh._ What a reprehensible fucking lie. All the same, Kugler carried on, "Due to the robust security system that was installed upon my assumption of headmastership, I am glad and relieved to announce that we were able to stop the perpetrators before they could take anything of value, and that no students were harmed."

That seemed to placate the crowd. "However," Kugler said, straightening the front of his suit. "I am disappointed to inform you that a number of our faculty have decided to move on from employment at St. Francis as a consequence of the incident. Miss Borrel, Mr. Schultz and Mr. Cain will all be taking leave, effective immediately. I wish them all the best of luck, wherever they may end up in the future of their careers."

Chatter broke out among the assembly. Even the other kids were suspicious of the claim, but none seemed willing to make the leap to assuming that they'd _died._ Eli pitied their ignorance.

"Please, please, settle down," Kugler pleaded with the crowd. "Those of you who were enrolled in one of Miss Borrel's French courses will be able to continue on in your studies without interruption; we already have a number of substitutes who will take her place until we are able to hire someone on a more permanent basis. We should be able to cover Mr. Schultz and Mr. Cain's courses within a fortnight. Remember that St. Francis employs several qualified counselors who will be able to help you through the transition period, should you need. Please do not hesitate to make use of their services."

With that, the headmaster released the students to classes and expected them to carry on as if three of their teachers hadn't just been murdered by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

As the day went on, Eli caught wind of more and more rumors about there being _more_ victims than just the teachers Kugler had named. Nobody'd seen the librarian Mrs. Peckham around all day, and she was _always_ giving kids hell in the stacks; the chaplain didn't show up that morning, so he had to be missing, too. Half of the rumors had to be made up, but Eli knew that there were many more casualties. 

After slogging through a schedule of classes that felt even longer and duller than usual, Eli decided that he ought to see whether Mary was alive or not. When he couldn't find her in any of the spots he'd seen her in before, Eli resigned himself to the onerous task of climbing back up onto the roof of the faculty quarters. It was a bit of a feat in the middle of the day, but thankfully few enough people willingly came by that building that it was possible to make it up to the tower without being spotted. 

When Eli pulled himself up onto the balcony, he found that Mary was still up in her room, and she didn't look like she had a scratch. To the contrary, she seemed positively elated — she was in the middle of sweeping her room with a broom, but she had a pair of headphones over her ears and she was humming along to the music, very loudly and very out of tune. Her attempts at dancing weren't much better. Eli decided to put her out of her misery and alert her to his presence before she could start up anything more humiliating than that.

When Eli loudly rapped on the glass of the window, Mary jumped with a terrified squeak. Her broom clattered to the ground and she whipped around — her expression morphed from one of fear to aggravation when she spotted Eli on the other side.

"Eli!" Mary exclaimed, her voice muffled by the closed window. She hurried over to it to open it after pulling her headphones off her ears. "What are you _doing?_ "

Without waiting to be invited, Eli let himself into Mary's room. "Something happened last night," he said, turning around to take in all the sights. 

"Well, um, yes —"

Mary's little tower room was small, but it was filled with all of the amenities a girl would need. The curved walls were covered in shelves packed end to end in books, and her antique hand-carved four poster bed was surely big enough to accommodate the visits of her creepy fake father.

However annoyed the girl grew, Eli paid no mind. He invasively wandered about her room, picking at the stuff on her desk until she yelled at him to stop, and then he went to looking through her collection of books instead. "You're awfully chipper for someone who just got a woman killed," he idly remarked — he honestly hadn't intended for the comment to come out so brutally, but he wasn't particularly concerned when it did.

Mary's high spirits cratered. "I... I... you know that I feel just terribly about Val— Miss Borrel, but I —"

Eli turned. "Valentine? She was working with your father — with _Joachim,_ wasn't she?"

"Y... yes," Mary answered, looking stiff and uncomfortable. "There are... a number of faculty here, who remained loyal to me and Joachim. They protect us both."

"Dr. Thomas is one too."

"Well —"

"And your mother... she's the _Prime Minister._ "

Mary didn't answer, but she didn't deny it, either. She simply looked to the ground, as if she were ashamed of the fact. 

"That is just _insane,_ " Eli laughed. "I wouldn't have believed what happened if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. And the way she took down Miss Borrel — how are you even still _alive?_ "

"She... left," Mary answered.

"She _left?_ " Eli repeated. Somehow, that seemed like an unlikely turn of events. "She tracked you down, killed your protectors, had you cornered, and then she just _left?_ "

"I... she found us, and I spoke with her — and my mother decided that she was going to let me... _live,_ " Mary said. "She finally accepted my choice to leave and let me go. And... that's why I was so happy. I'm finally free, Eli."

Eli snorted. "And you _believe_ that?"

"What?" Mary asked, brow furrowed in distress. 

"Well — it's got to be some sort of a trap, hasn't it?"

"A trap? How?"

"Hell if I know," Eli responded. "All I know is how adults treat us. They're all liars." 

Clearly, Eli was ruthlessly murdering the girl's good mood. Mary huffed, and bent down to pick up her broom. "I assure you, if my mother wished to bring me back, she could have easily done just that. We were soundly defeated, with nowhere to run. I truly believe she wishes me to be free."

"Well, whatever. I don't know the first thing about your mum."

"You're right, you don't! Now, if you don't mind, I've work to do here," Mary snittily exclaimed, before she put her headphones back on and resumed vigorously sweeping her room.

Eli rolled his eyes. "Fine. Try not to get killed, I guess."

Mary evidently neither heard nor cared what Eli said, so he climbed back out the window and headed back to his room. He'd dig deeper another day.


	17. Physical Attraction

**18 January, 1988. Ocelot's office.**

Eli let himself into Ocelot's office the following Monday after class and wasted no time in seeking answers. "Something happened at school last Friday, and it wasn't what Kugler said it was," he said as he sat himself down in the chair across from Ocelot's desk.

It was their first counseling session since the attack on the school — and also the first since their last uncomfortable encounter. Ocelot seemed determined to maintain a nonchalant facade.

"I wasn't on campus that day. I don't know what happened," Ocelot said, not even looking up from the paperwork he was making a show of working through.

Eli immediately called Ocelot on his bullshit. "You're _lying,_ " he said. "Why do you think I'm so fucking stupid? I _know_ you know _exactly_ what happened last Friday."

"Eli," Ocelot said, warning.

"I was there, you know. I saw it. I got out of the residence when it was happening, and I saw her — I saw _Margaret Thatcher._ "

Ocelot slowly lifted his gaze to meet Eli's eyes. His mouth was drawn thin, and his hand was gripped way too tightly on his pen. When he didn't respond, Eli just carried on. "I know Margaret Thatcher is that girl Mary's mother. I know that Joseph Kugler's real name is Joachim, and that he and Mary are having an affair, and that he was hiding Mary from her mother, but Thatcher found her and came here and killed Miss Borrel and those other teachers too before she left. And I know Dr. Thomas is working with Joachim. The only thing I don't know is: how the fuck are _you_ involved?"

Ocelot stared back at Eli. He didn't seem to know how to even react to all of it — nor was he apparently willing to answer. Instead, he said, in blank register, "Eli... if anything happens to you, your mother will _kill_ me."

"Then tell me yourself," Eli demanded. "Tell me and I won't have to keep chasing it."

Even still, Ocelot refused to be specific. "The only reason you are here is to get an education, Eli," he insisted. "You don't know as much as you think you do. You aren't involved in this at all. You _can't_ be involved in this. You are completely outside the parameters of the mission. Whatever else I do here beyond watching over you has _nothing_ to do with you."

"Why are you here? Who are you working for? Joachim? Margaret Thatcher? My father?" 

Eli honestly had no guesses as to where Ocelot's loyalties lay. He seemed rather rattled by Joachim, but so had Miss Borrel and Dr. Thomas, whom Eli knew were _definitely_ on his side. Could Ocelot really be here to help _Thatcher?_ And Eli couldn't imagine his father having any interest in some girl's _familial drama..._ was Ocelot working for some completely unknown third party?

Whatever it was, Ocelot was obviously not going to say. "Eli, you need to stop. I can't protect you if you don't let me."

Eli could tell he was going to get no further with this, so he stood up out of his chair. "Fine. Suit yourself. If you won't tell me anything, I'll find out on my own," he said, and turned to go.

It was far from the end time of Eli's appointment, but Ocelot didn't stop him when he left. 

 

***

 

**20 January, 1988. Humanities building.**

Eli lingered after Dr. Thomas's class before lunch once more. Dr. Thomas seemed to expect it — they were going to have to talk eventually, that was for sure.

"Want any help?" Eli offered as the teacher began to gather up his things. 

This time, Dr. Thomas didn't even bother making a show of refusing. In front of Eli, he no longer attempted to affect an appearance of frailty, either.

Eli helped Dr. Thomas carry his bag down to the dining hall, queued behind him, and followed his lead in procuring lunch. The two of them went through it all in silence. It wasn't until they'd reached the safety of Thomas's office that the old man had anything to say. "Sit," he commanded.

Eli pulled the old folding chair out from where it'd been lodged behind a bookshelf and set it up across from Dr. Thomas's small desk. Eli decided to begin eating, and wait for Thomas to bring up the obvious issue.

"I trust I don't have to tell you that you absolutely cannot tell anyone about what you saw last week," the schoolmaster grumbled, before he began work on his own sad, greasy cafeteria sandwich. 

"Obviously," Eli snorted.

"I gather you'll have... questions."

"Yes," Eli said. "I know there's something going on here at St. Francis, and I want to know _what._ "

"I don't know how much I can tell you, but you can ask."

Eli was honestly surprised that Dr. Thomas was even willing to talk to him, after being so thoroughly stonewalled by Ocelot. It even made him a little suspicious. "You're actually going to give me information?"

"Why not?" Thomas shrugged, taking another bite. He spoke freely while chewing. "You already know more than enough for him to kill you if he found out. He'd probably kill me for not killing you, too. Whatever."

Well, that made good enough sense.

Eli wasn't even sure where to _start._ He decided on recounting what he already knew was true. "You're working with Joachim. You were placed here to protect him and hide Mary from her mother. And last Friday she came here, attacked the school and found Mary, but left without bringing her back."

"You spoke to Mary, I take it?"

"Yeah." 

Dr. Thomas sighed, taking a minute to loudly masticate. "You're only playing with fire, getting near that girl. I'd tell you to stay away, but I expect that'd only make you more likely to keep at it."

Well, he wasn't wrong.

Thomas didn't even wait for further prompting before he began offering more explanation. "Verschuer — Joachim — and I, we used to work under Thatcher, overseeing various... operations. Experiments. I could elaborate, but I don't want to." he said. "Have you heard of... _the Illuminati?_ "

"The Illuminati?" Eli echoed, awed.

Dr. Thomas laughed earnestly. "I'm sure it's not quite so incredible as you may think from the name — it's an informal coalition that was established by Churchill during the war. We were closer to a _Kitchen Cabinet_ than the true manifestation of the _New World Order,_ I suppose, but Churchill did like a joke." Thomas seemed almost wistful speaking of the man.

"You knew Churchill?"

"Oh, yes. I was a founding member," Thomas said. "Churchill... he's still the greatest man I've ever known. The world is much worse for his passing."

Eli didn't know what to say.

Dr. Thomas sighed, and then returned to the topic at hand. "Our influence on other world leaders was more cordial than totalitarian — we had the resources and means to carry out questionably ethical projects outside the boundaries of the law, and the national community frequently availed itself of our services in exchange for certain... favors. Monetary, military, political."

"... Was Big Boss involved?"

"Eh? Big Boss? I'm surprised someone your age would even know his name," Thomas responded. "But — no. Not as such."

"What does that mean?"

"Met the man a time or two to scout him, around 64, 65, maybe, when he'd just started getting international attention — didn't seem to like me much," Thomas said. "Didn't seem to like _anything_ much. And when Churchill... well, nothing came of it.

"There were some rumblings of it again back in the 70s, I recall... we were in contact with an associate of his, for a while. But I understand Big Boss chose to take a leave of civilized society."

The fact that Dr. Thomas had _met_ Big Boss almost made Eli... _jealous._ It was absurd. Big Boss was his _father,_ and they'd never met! It wasn't _fair._

"Anyway," Thomas said, "to make a _very_ long story short — there was a schism in the coalition, and Verschuer took Mary and several of us along with him."

From what Eli was learning about Dr. Thomas, he was honestly sort of surprised that the old man was working for Verschuer at all. "Why did you follow him, if you think so little of him?"

Dr. Thomas released a small laugh with a wry look. "When did I say I thought little of him?"

"You don't seem to be a fan of killing children," Eli observed.

"Verschuer is ruthless, to be sure — but, well, you've seen Thatcher is hardly much better on that front," Dr. Thomas snorted.

"Then why did you leave her with Joachim, if they're just the same?"

"I'm not loyal to Margaret Thatcher _or_ Joachim von Verschuer," Dr. Thomas said, his face quirking into a lopsided grin. "I'm loyal to Winston Churchill. Then, now — and for the rest of my life."

"But Winston Churchill is _dead._ "

"Yes, that's true. But his daughter isn't," Thomas said, smiling.

Oh, Jesus _fucking_ Christ. 

Eli sighed heavily, and brought a hand to his forehead. "You're talking about Mary," he said.

Dr. Thomas nodded.

"But... Mary is 15," Eli said, flabbergasted. "And Winston Churchill died more than 20 years ago."

"He did," Thomas confirmed.

"Then — then how —"

"I'm not sure you'd understand if I explained, with how bad I hear your Biology marks are."

Eli huffed in offended indignation. It was always the same in the end — no matter how decent an adult seemed, it always fucking came back to the condescension. "Fuck you, old man," he spat.

Dr. Thomas broke into a rattling laugh that devolved into a hacking cough. Eli watched Dr. Thomas smugly as he struggled to get his frail aged body until control.

Eli wasn't sure what else to ask, after that. Dr. Thomas clearly wasn't going to get into specifics of his involvement. So, Eli decided to do a little oblique prodding. "Do you know my... my step-father?" he asked.

Thomas seemed confused by the question. "What, Adam? What does he have to do with anything?"

Eli didn't know whether or not to take Dr. Thomas's reaction as positive proof of anything. While the old man certainly didn't seem like the type to even be _good_ at faking that kind of response, Eli had to admit he didn't really know Dr. Thomas at all. And while Eli certainly wanted to know what was going on, he figured it probably wasn't in his best interest to actually compromise Ocelot's cover. "I'm just worried I'm going to get in trouble for what happened last week," he said.

"I've not told Adam anything about what happened with you," Dr. Thomas said. "He got the same story as the rest of the faculty."

"Oh," Eli said.

Dr. Thomas was just about finished with his crappy sandwich, and was clearly eager to have Eli off. "Anyway... I think it's best if we aren't seen together much," he said. "Of course, if you've any more questions, I'd rather you come to me than Mary or Verschuer."

Eli closed up his own box of food and stood from his chair. "Do you want me to help you set up your next class?"

Dr. Thomas waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, I fake it all. I'll have no trouble on my own. Just get along to your next class."

Eli went down the steps of the administration building alone. After checking the clock in the lobby, he discovered that he still had a good deal of time left before next period, so he elected to take a stroll in the yard to kill time.

Eli walked out across the central promenade, hands in his pockets. It was a very chilly afternoon, but the sun was bright in the sky and warm on his skin. The grass was a bit damp from the patches of gradually melting snow that peppered the yard.

As Eli looked around, he spotted Samuel reading on the bench upon which he always sat during lunch period, but aside from him, the yard seemed unusually clear of people for the hour. At first Eli assumed it was owed to the temperature, but when he spotted her, the reason quickly became clear.

Mary was sat beneath the large oak tree in the center of the yard, enjoying a tremendous berth from the other students. Eli knew a group of sixth form boys liked to gather under that tree for lunch, but they were nowhere to be found today. Though Mary was a point of fascination to the boys — the amount of school gossip that revolved around her was honestly astounding — something about her clearly scared them as well. The few boys still in the proximity of the yard saw fit to stare, but none dared approach her.

Eli, though, wasn't quite so cowardly. He turned right towards her and made his way over, without concern for the looks it earned him. Mary didn't seem to anticipate or notice his approach at all.

When Eli came to stand beside her, he stared down at her for a time. She was engrossed in her book, and the headphones over her ears seemed to block out any sound. Heavily wrapped in expensive looking winter clothing, her spindly legs stuck out from underneath all the heavy layers like a shaved poodle. Eli didn't understand how her legs weren't freezing in just a pair of black tights.

Eli could hear the faint sound of music from where he stood, but he couldn't make out what the song was. It wasn't as if he knew shit about music, anyway. "Hi," he eventually said, raising his voice loudly enough to be heard.

Mary jumped at his voice, startled. "Oh, goodness," she said, pulling her headphones off before she fumbled to pause her Walkman. "Um, hello, Eli."

"Hi," he repeated. Eli quickly realized that he'd had no plan coming here, and no idea what to even say to this girl — maybe he could strike up a chat about her illicit affair with her non-father? Failing that, he went with an obvious line of smalltalk. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, this?" She looked down at her book. "It's just a biology textbook... I'm trying to keep up with my studies."

Ugh, _biology._ It was Eli's least favorite subject by far, even worse than art. "Nevermind. I don't want to know anything about that," he concluded. He gestured to Mary's headphones. "What were you listening to?"

Mary's face lit up at his interest, which probably was not a good sign. Nevertheless, Eli had committed to this folly and resolved to stay the course. "I just got a new album on cassette. It's a wonderful listen!" Mary gushed.

"Oh, yeah? What is it?"

Mary didn't hesitate to grab up her headphones and offer them to Eli. "It's from my favorite artist, Madonna. You can have a listen, if you'd like! Do you know Madonna?"

Eli scrunched up his nose. He'd _heard_ the name Madonna, and seen some pictures of her, but he didn't think he'd actually listened to anything she'd _done._ "Not really," he answered, but reluctantly took the headphones. He put them on, and sat down beside Mary.

The other kids in the yard were openly staring at them as they passed, and it made Eli feel a bit smug. "Oh, she's very popular. I simply _adore_ her," Mary explained, fiddling with her walkman to roll back the tape. "Here, this is my favorite song on the album. Now, it's no _Material Girl,_ but —"

Mary hit play on the Walkman, and Eli's ears filled with a poppy percussion. He jumped when the vocals kicked in:

_Hey!_  
_What?_  
_Listen..._

Eugh. He could already tell that this was _not_ going to be his thing. Eli didn't often listen to music, but he certainly wouldn't choose to listen to _this_ trashy shit.

_I've had other guys_  
_I've looked into their eyes_  
_But I never knew love before_

Oh... oh no...

_'Til you walked through my door_  
_I've had other lips_  
_I've sailed a thousand ships_  
_But no matter where I go_  
_You're the one for me baby this I know, 'cause it's_

Oh _god._ This was a _love song._ Eli couldn't handle _love songs_ — 

_True love_  
_You're the one I'm dreaming of_  
_Your heart fits me like a glove_  
_And I'm gonna be true blue baby I love you_

Eli felt like he was going to die of embarrassment. He couldn't believe he was listening to this _sappy bullshit._ He _wished_ he believed in god so someone would save him from his suffering.

Mary was looking at him with such bright and earnest enthusiasm that he almost felt bad for hating it so much. 

_I've heard all the lines_  
_I've cried oh so many times_  
_Those tear drops they won't fall again_  
_I'm so excited 'cause you're my best fri—_

Not enough to keep listening, though. When he'd well and truly had enough, he wrenched the headphones off his ears and pushed them back to Mary.

"Oh, you're not going to listen to the whole thing? What did you think?" Mary eagerly asked as she took the headphones back and paused the cassette.

Eli hesitated as he carefully considered his words. "Er... it's a bit shit, innit?"

He watched as Mary's world shattered around her. "W... what?" she stammered, at a complete loss for how to react to such an opinion. "You didn't like it?"

"No," Eli said, his face contorting in disbelief. "What made you think I'd like a trashy sap song like that? What do I look like, a — a _queer?_ "

Mary's jaw hung open, until she snapped it shut to form her mouth into a sternly disapproving line. "Madonna is a _revolutionary icon._ You can't simply _not like_ Madonna."

"Isn't Madonna some kind of slutty tart who dances about her in underthings?" Eli asked. He may not have heard her music, but he certainly remembered her titties. "Doesn't this go against your _religion_ or whatever?"

That seemed to have struck a nerve. Mary stammered. "M-Madonna's image is transgressive, to be sure — but her goals are assuredly to challenge the systemically entrenched attitudes of negativity towards the agency of women in society, not to promote a life of _pointless hedonism._ There's something to be said for —"

Eli rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Are all girls this lame?"

" _Lame?_ " Mary repeated, hand held over her chest. "You think I'm — I'm _lame?_ "

The volume of Mary's voice was rising, and the kids in the yard were certainly beginning to take extra special notice of them now. They formed into groups and whispered to each other as they walked past, staring. Eli wasn't self-conscious — it wasn't _his_ embarrassing bad taste on display.

Eli snorted, and climbed to his feet. "Whatever. See you around, Kugler."

"Maybe _I'd_ rather not see _you_ around, _Doe!_ " Mary shouted back. When Eli glanced over his shoulder, she was throwing her headphones onto the ground in a fit of anger.

Eli simply laughed and carried on his way. 

He figured he might check in with Samuel before heading off to class, but when he turned in the direction of the bench, the boy was already gone.

 

***

 

Eli was fashionably late to his appointment with Ocelot after class, but received no scolding for his tardiness. In fact, Ocelot seemed positively preoccupied when Eli arrived, but not with any work that he could see. It was odd to see Ocelot with any expression other than smug condescension or condescending smugness.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Eli asked as he settled casually into his chair. 

Ocelot took a while to actually respond. "You've been speaking to Mary," he said. He looked troubled by this above and beyond his normal level of exasperation; Eli almost would've said he looked... _worried._

"Yeah," Eli said. "So what?"

"You could compromise my cover. You could draw Kugler's attention onto you and get hurt. You could get _her_ hurt. Kugler has always responded with nuclear force to anyone trying to get close to his daughter."

"Stop fucking _lying_ to me. Stop treating me like I'm _stupid._ I already know Mary isn't Verschuer's fucking daughter," Eli growled, gripping the arms of his chair in frustration.

Ocelot grew more harried as it became clear that Eli had learned even _more_ information. "Eli, you _have_ to stop saying that name. You _have_ to stay out of this."

Eli grinned. "Or what? What are you going to do about it?"

Ocelot shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He opened his mouth, and then closed it, looked at the clock, and then back to Eli, but only very briefly. His voice was very quiet when he finally replied. "If I do it, will you really stop trying to pry?"

"Do _what?_ "

Ocelot was sat with his hand over his mouth, rubbing at his lip with his gaze directed towards the desk before him. "If I... have sex with you," he said.

Eli froze in his seat.

 _Holy shit._ Of all the things he'd expected Ocelot to actually say, that ranked among the last. Ocelot had refused him so many times, so strongly, that Eli had all but given up hope of it ever _happening,_ even if he knew Ocelot _was_ attracted to him. And it was one thing for Eli to goad him and mock him and think about the fantasy, but with the prospect of Ocelot really staring him in the eye with the offer on the table — 

It would've been a lie to say that Eli wasn't a little apprehensive. He only remembered to breathe when he started feeling lightheaded. 

When Ocelot saw Eli's reaction, he thought better of it and began to rise up out of his chair. "Nevermind. Forget about —"

"No, wait," Eli hastily interjected. "I do want to."

Eli hoped he'd figure out whether or not that was really true before they actually did it.

Ocelot stopped mid-motion, and looked back to Eli. "I don't know what else to do about you," he said, as if trying to excuse himself. "You can't _stay_ here if you won't —"

"I'll stop," Eli said. He wasn't quite sure if it was a sincere promise, but he was willing to make it now.

Ocelot sighed, and settled back down. Eli stared at him in anxious anticipation as Ocelot fell silent, his expression dark but unreadable. Neither of them could find anything to say for a while.

After a long period filled with nothing but the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, Ocelot broke the standstill. He sat back in his chair, met Eli's eyes and said, "Come here."

Eli's mouth felt dry. He slowly rose from his seat and approached the desk; Ocelot beckoned him closer, so he circled around to the other side. With no further direction, Eli sat on the edge of Ocelot's desk and looked down at him expectantly. He felt his heart beating through his entire body.

"Take off your clothes," Ocelot commanded.

Eli nearly choked. "W-what?"

"Take off your clothes."

"You want me to —"

"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Eli licked his dry lips as his hands fumbled for the button of his blazer. He shrugged it off onto the desk behind him, and worked at loosening his tie. Ocelot watched him with a piercing eye, but made no move to interfere with the process.

He let his tie drop to the ground, and his fingers moved to undo the buckle of his belt. He felt clumsy and uncoordinated and self-conscious under Ocelot's stare. When he had his belt off, and his shirt untucked, he found himself hesitating.

"Having second thoughts?" Ocelot asked. 

Eli furrowed his brow in frustration. Was Ocelot trying to goad him into chickening out? Was this entire thing some sort of ploy to prove that Eli really was too much of a baby fucking child to go through with it? If that was his game, he was going to be fucking disappointed.

"No," Eli snapped, and began to unbutton his shirt with an angered conviction. 

He was already getting kind of hard, just imagining what was about to happen — and given that he was so inexperienced, he didn't even know where to begin when envisioning a likely sequence of events. Was Ocelot just going to throw him down and fuck him on the desk? Maybe he'd made Eli suck his cock first. 

He wondered if he'd even be able to go through with sucking a dick. Maybe that was just _too_ gay.

But thus far, Ocelot hadn't done _anything_ other than watch him. Down to just his trousers, Eli was beginning to grow self-conscious — in lieu of removing them entirely, he elected to just... stick his hand down them and start timidly jerking off.

It was honestly a little embarrassing. Eli tried not to imagine how red his face was as he stroked himself, growing rapidly harder in his own hand. Eventually, he found the courage to ask, "What do you want me to do?"

Ocelot repeated his words right back at him. "What do you want _me_ to do?"

"Ugh, I don't know," Eli groaned. "You're the one who knows what to do. Make it feel good."

"Just touch yourself, then," Ocelot said.

Eli was growing frustrated with how fucking difficult Ocelot was. "The entire point is I want _you_ to do it," he said.

Ocelot took a moment of quiet contemplation before he made his decision.

Eli watched with mounting anticipation as Ocelot made methodical work of removing one of his gloves. He tugged at the fingers one at a time, and once it was sufficiently loose, pulled it off his hand in a slow motion — Eli didn't think he'd ever _seen_ Ocelot's hands before. There was something weird about it, like the way a dog looked naked without its collar. 

Then Ocelot pushed his chair back and stood, looming above Eli with sharp eyes. Eli found himself holding his breath when Ocelot gently pushed him onto his back.

He felt terribly exposed, spread out over the desk with his legs parted and Ocelot staring down at him with a scrutinizing gaze; he could hear his blood pulsing in his ears far too loudly for the comfort of his pride. His entire body seized up when Ocelot finally touched him — Ocelot pressed just the tips of his fingers to Eli's stomach, and dragged them down along the boy's side. The warm touch felt like an electric shock.

"Ocelot," Eli breathed out.

Ocelot paused, his eyes flitting up to meet Eli's gaze. "Do you want me to stop?"

Eli didn't even have to think about it. "No," he answered. 

In a swift motion, Ocelot hooked his fingers into the waistband of Eli's trousers and divested him of the last of his modesty.

It was hardly the first time Eli had been unclothed in front of another human being — he'd just about always relished any opportunity to wear as little clothing as he could possibly get away with — but he wasn't sure he'd ever truly been _naked_ before. The bite of the air on his skin and Ocelot's eyes on his body made him burn from an almost toxic concoction of arousal and terror.

Ocelot pressed the breadth of his palm against Eli's skin, stroking down the contours of his stomach. Eli had noticed he'd lost some muscle definition since coming to St. Francis, but Ocelot didn't seem to find him unattractive; there was still an unmistakable dark heat in his eyes. He trailed lower and lower until finally, he took Eli into his hand.

Eli breathed out in a suddering sigh. Ocelot froze and did nothing at first, staring down intensely into Eli's eyes as the cock pulsed in his hand. When Ocelot finally moved, he stroked Eli with a light, experimental pressure that did little but tantalize. Eli pushed up into Ocelot's hand, which only caused him to pull back. "Come _on,_ " Eli whined. "I want to feel it —"

"Patience," Ocelot quietly said. Eli had expected Ocelot to be smug about it, goad him and deride him for being so fucking _desperate,_ but his demeanor was closer to... _reverence?_ He looked so tense, and _in_ tense, and all of his motions were taken with the kind of care you might expect from a fucking _brain surgeon._ It was almost more unsettling than being mocked — and it certainly didn't make for the rough dirty fuck he'd been looking forward to.

With an aggravated huff, Eli fell back flat against the desk. His cooperation didn't earn him what he wanted, though; instead, Ocelot's fingers wandered down even lower. 

Eli bit his lip as Ocelot slid his fingers over his perineum and around the entrance to his ass. He wasn't surprised Ocelot wanted to touch him there — he'd assumed as much to be a given, in his numerous ruminations on the logistics of homosexual intercourse — but he hadn't quite made it to the point of figuring out whether _he_ wanted to _be_ touched there, not just in fantasy, but in _reality._ It seemed like he was going to have to make a decision about it very quickly.

Well... he may as well fucking try it.

After nervously swallowing a mouthful of nothing, Eli pulled back one of his legs to give Ocelot better access. Despite the clear invitation, Ocelot's touch remained uninvasive; it felt more like Ocelot was exploring his body than anything. It was maddening. 

"Just put it in there," Eli demanded, annoyed. "I'm not a fucking china doll. Just fuck me up."

Ocelot appeared to have a sudden moment of clarity, as if his mind had just returned from somewhere far away. His eyes snapped back into focus, and a much more characteristically insufferable smirk returned to his face. He pulled his hand away entirely.

"What are you —"

"Don't have any lubricant on me," Ocelot explained, just before he sucked his fingers into his mouth.

" _Lubricant?_ " Eli echoed.

Ocelot pulled his fingers away, dripping with saliva. His expression turned sour. "You're too fucking young."

Eli had honestly never thought about it before. It made sense, he supposed — he knew a girl's vagina was supposed to get wet, and that must have made the process easier... sometimes he spit on his hand when he jacked off thinking about girls. And, obviously, his _asshole_ didn't do that. 

The revelation suddenly flooded Eli's mind with an entire host of corollary concerns. "Wait. What if I've got to shit?" he blurted out.

Ocelot paused, and slowly looked up into Eli's eyes. There was a long moment of silence before he answered. "Well... don't."

"But what if I do???"

Unfortunately for Eli, Ocelot seemed no longer willing to entertain this line of questioning. He steadied Eli's chest with his gloved hand and stuck a finger up his ass.

Eli jolted in surprise, but Ocelot's hand kept him from pulling away. It felt like — well, like having a fucking finger up his ass. It didn't _hurt_ at all, but it didn't really feel good, either — certainly nothing resembling an erogenous sensation.

Ocelot watched Eli's face with interest as he sank his middle finger in to the knuckle; Eli, in turn, stared down between his own legs at the bizarre sight. "That feels fucking weird," Eli mumbled.

Ocelot slowly drew his hand back, and then just as slowly pressed it back in. "Bad?"

"No... just, um." Eli shifted in discomfort. "This doesn't feel like... a _sex_ thing."

"Hmm," Ocelot replied, but made no move to change anything he was doing. His motions remained slow and methodical. Eli was starting to lose his boner. Was Ocelot just trying to _bore_ him to death?

"Stop _torturing_ me already and _do_ something," Eli complained.

Ocelot smiled. "Sex and interrogation aren't so different."

Eli looked up Ocelot's face with an aggravated sneer. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Any instance in which humans interact is a _conversation,_ " Ocelot said. "And in any conversation, it's all about finding —" He hooked his finger up. "— points of _pressure._ "

Eli drew a harsh breath and tensed at the bizarre jolt of a sensation. What the _fuck_ was that? "Do that again," Eli exhaled.

Of course, instead of listening, Ocelot pulled out again; he was lucky Eli didn't fucking kill him. "Dried up," he said, preempting Eli's protests.

Eli cringed in disgust when Ocelot actually put his fingers _back into his mouth,_ knowing full well where they'd just _been_. "Ugh, that's fucking _gross,_ " Eli complained.

Ocelot slowly licked along the length of his fingers. "I don't mind how you taste," he said, with a heavy tone and a dark look that made something in Eli's chest flutter. 

Before Eli could make any effort to save face, Ocelot was pressing his fingers back into Eli's body — two this time, which produced a bit of a burning stretch. Eli grit his teeth, but the sensation quickly passed.

Two was definitely a tighter fit. Each of Ocelot's movements inside of him felt much more intense, and while it still didn't hurt, it was beginning to verge on discomfort — but Eli thought that might have made it closer to... _pleasant._

Eli was completely knocked off guard when Ocelot used both of his fingers to drag up along his inner walls. He found that _spot_ again, and the feeling was much clearer — it wasn't as intense a sensation as having his cock touched, but something about the tantalizing distance of the pleasure and the nature of the penetration that made it that much more disarming. Eli was mortified when something resembling a whimper escaped his lips.

Ocelot built up a bit of a rhythm, stroking in and out. He took care to press against that spot each time he drove his fingers in, but he was too slow and too gentle and none of this was _enough._ "Do it harder," Eli demanded.

Finally, Ocelot decided to fucking listen — he braced himself against the desk with a hand beside Eli's head, and with strength behind his arm, began to give Eli got exactly what he'd asked for and more. Eli's hand moved of its own volition to form a tight grip around Ocelot's wrist beside his head, and he held on with wide eyes as he was overwhelmed.

Ocelot thrust his fingers in and out of Eli's body with force, and each of the harsh jabs sent jolts of pleasure to his cock. Eli struggled to modulate his voice in the face of the arresting staccato sensation, but attaining any level of self-control was growing increasingly difficult. 

It became all the worse when Ocelot leaned in to bite at the skin of his neck. Eli yelped at the light but startling pain, and shuddered at the heat and moisture of his tongue over the mark, and drew sharp breaths as Ocelot kissed his way over his collar and chest without halting the targeted movements of his fingers. 

Ocelot took Eli's nipple between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. Eli couldn't stop himself from arching up into the warmth of Ocelot's lips, or from gasping at the rapidly intensifying combination of sensations. Ocelot devoured his body with an intoxicating hunger, and he felt so short of breath, turned inside out — and the fact this was only the beginning set his nerves on fire.

Ocelot withdrew his fingers, but Eli was too distracted to even complain — his heart began to race as Ocelot nipped his way lower, further and further down Eli's body until he was so, so close to — was he _going_ to — 

Eli seized when Ocelot dragged the breadth of his tongue up the length of his cock. He was so sensitive and wired that he was almost shocked he didn't come from that alone — just that felt so fucking good, and he lifted his hips, all but praying that Ocelot would take him all the way into his mouth and suck him, and he wasn't above begging if he had to — 

Ocelot let himself sit back down into his chair, pulled Eli by the hips up to his face and pressed his tongue into his ass.

Eli was startled beyond _belief_. He jumped, shocked, and tried to push Ocelot away — his voice cracked when he demanded, "What the fuck are you _doing?_ "

Ocelot was past the point of entertaining Eli's questions; he simply forced the boy to lie back, gripped him tightly enough that he couldn't wriggle free and returned right back to where he'd been.

 _God,_ that felt _weird._ It was fucking _disgusting._ He couldn't believe _or_ understand why Ocelot was doing it, but from the sound he made and the insatiable urgency with which he was licking him, it sure fucking seemed like he was enjoying it.

As he allowed himself to relax, it became, maybe, tolerable — Eli certainly would've prefered Ocelot had his lips on his cock instead, but maybe this... wasn't so bad...

When Eli finally stopped squirming, Ocelot released his hold and used his thumbs to spread Eli further apart; he pressed inside with his tongue, and while he didn't reach nearly so deep as he had with his fingers, the sensation seemed to burn much more. It was wet and invasive and sloppy, and Eli could feel Ocelot practically drooling onto his body.

Just as Eli thought he was starting to get used to it, Ocelot dragged his tongue from Eli's ass up to his balls and mouthed over them with wet lips. His fingers quickly returned to where his tongue left, massaging deeper inside, and he took Eli's dick into his free hand. 

Eli's thighs were trembling; Ocelot's still-gloved hand didn't move on his cock — he mostly seemed to be holding it back so he could lick everywhere _but_ where Eli wanted the most — but the light pressure left him almost dizzy.

Eli wasn't above begging. "Please, fuck," he pleaded. His fingers wound into Ocelot's hair and he gripped so hard his own hand hurt, but it was no deterrent to either of them. "Just — just suck me off —"

With enough direction, and pathetic enough begging, Ocelot relented — he licked up and finally swallowed Eli's cock.

The inside of Ocelot's mouth was impossibly hot and wet and he took Eli down effortlessly until his lips were nearly flush with the boy's body. Eli couldn't help but cry out at the intensity as Ocelot sucked in, massaged his shaft with his tongue, pulled back until the head came from his mouth with a wet pop and then back down again — Ocelot _moaned_ around his dick, and the way he was rubbing circles around that spot inside Eli's ass as he worked his mouth somehow made it all the more overpowering — Eli felt like he was nearly crying by the time Ocelot was able to build up a quick, steady rhythm moving his head up and down. Eli covered his own mouth with his hand, biting his fingers to keep himself quiet until he drew blood.

It wasn't really much of a surprise, but Eli wasn't able to last very long when subject to such intense direct stimulation. It felt like his cock had only hit the back of Ocelot's throat moments ago when he was forcefully spilling down it, shuddering and gasping as Ocelot swallowed around him again and again. Ocelot sucked him through to the end of his release, hungrily taking down every drop Eli had to offer until he was completely spent and wasted and left heaving for his lost breath. 

Ocelot calmly sat back into his chair as Eli lay back in the wake of his utter annihilation. It took a good long while for Eli to finally collect himself enough to even sit up — and when he did, he was faced with Ocelot staring him down.

But he wasn't _doing_ anything.

Eli pulled himself up to sit crosslegged on the desk, suddenly very aware of how wet and sticky he felt. He may have been tapped out, but he hadn't expected that to be the end of it — Ocelot hadn't so much as even _touched_ himself. Awkwardly, Eli cleared his throat and began, "Aren't you going to..."

"Going to what?" Ocelot asked.

"Well." Eli looked down between Ocelot's legs. It wasn't like he didn't have an erection. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

"Didn't I?"

Eli scowled. Ocelot was being obtuse. "With your — you know, your _cock._ "

"No," Ocelot answered.

"Why not?"

Ocelot leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs. "I don't want to."

"Bullshit," Eli laughed. "And I can still _see_ it even when you do that, idiot."

"My physical reaction is well besides the point," Ocelot said, tilting his head to the side.

Eli crossed his arms and sneered. "You said you didn't want to touch me the way you just did, either."

"I didn't, and still don't."

" _Ugh,_ " Eli groaned, throwing up his hands in irritation. "You're such a fucking _liar!_ Do you think I'm an _idiot?_ What is even the point? If you're imagining that holding off is saving you from crossing some sort of moral fucking line, I've got some bad news for you — the line was way back when you put your fucking hands down my trousers."

Soon enough, Ocelot was wearing a scowl as petulant as Eli's, as if he were _offended_ that Eli thought he would be concerned with such a meaningless trifle as _morality._ " _Believe_ me, my sense of propriety isn't the _issue._ "

"Then what _is?_ Come _on._ You're just going to have a wank the moment I walk out of here," Eli protested.

Ocelot didn't even _deny_ it. "Which is why you should leave, quickly."

Eli dramatically rolled his eyes. "Come on, then. Let me do it. It'll be better," he said.

Ocelot seemed to be growing irritated by Eli's insistence. " _No,_ Eli. Get dressed." 

"I don't _get_ it," Eli complained, but he got up to gather up his clothes and began clumsily pulling them back on. "Why is it fine for you to put _my_ dick in your _mouth_ but I can't even _look_ at yours?"

"Because I say so."

"Why? It doesn't make any —"

Evidently, Ocelot had had enough of arguing. He rose from behind his desk, walked to the door and threw it open. " _Here's the door,_ " he said, gesturing demonstratively out of it. It was a comical sight — he wore both a sour face and an extremely obvious tent in his pants. Eli laughed.

"Well, whatever. Be that way," Eli said. As soon as he had his shoes back on, he got up to walk out the door. "Enjoy your mediocre wankjob, loser."

"Keep your _voice_ down," Ocelot hissed after him, but Eli slammed the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... Happy Valentine's Day I guess.


	18. The Look of Love

**8 February, 1988. St. Francis.**

Winter had truly fallen upon the school.

The yards were blanketed in several inches of snow, following an unusually tempestuous storm the previous weekend. Workers were still out clearing snow from the promenade and walkways as Eli was let out of class. Huddled up in his layers of clothing for warmth, he quickly walked the short distance from the humanities building to reception next door.

Naturally, Eli was always early to arrive to his appointments with Ocelot now that they'd struck up such an agreeable arrangement. Getting a blowjob was obviously a lot more fun than talking about his day at school — they didn't do much talking at all anymore.

Eli had even managed to get Ocelot to agree to have sessions all of the three days that he was on campus, and Thursday through Sunday seemed to crawl by like molasses. It was practically all he looked forward to. 

Eli gingerly rapped on the door to Ocelot's office, and entered when Ocelot called him inside. It was a relief to be in a heated building; Eli immediately started offloading his scarf and coat and pulled off his gloves. 

Ocelot didn't even bother to speak a word. "Come here," Eli commanded, and started at the buckle of his belt. Ocelot rose to obey.

Eli had him on his knees by the door. Ocelot was good with his hands and his mouth, and there was an electric appeal in his undisguisable enthusiasm for tasting Eli's cock. Eli enjoyed debasing him — Ocelot was completely pliable to being used, and Eli could see the unmistakeable haze of lust in Ocelot's eyes when he fucked his throat and came on his face. How the fuck Ocelot managed to keep his cock in his pants every time was beyond Eli's ability to understand. 

Ocelot looked almost as spent as Eli when Eli shot over his face and into eagerly open mouth. After returning to his senses following release, Eli enjoyed a smug grin as he watched Ocelot wipe off his face and lick his fingers clean. "I love seeing you choke on my cock," Eli said, his fingers still tangled in Ocelot's hair.

Ocelot had nothing to say. His eyes drifted off to look away. Annoyed, Eli hauled Ocelot to his feet and attempted to shove his tongue past his lips.

Eli's back collided noisily with the door before his mouth even made contact with Ocelot. He yelped from the startling pain, and then snarled from anger — Ocelot was backing away before Eli could strike out in retaliation. "What the _fuck?_ "

" _No,_ " Ocelot said, crossing his arms over his chest in a rigid posture. "We aren't going to do that."

"Do _what?_ " Eli said, exasperated.

" _Kiss._ "

_Oh, for god's sake._ Eli rolled his eyes as he straightened himself out. He was hoping they might have a second round in a bit, but that clearly wasn't happening; he went about refastening his trousers instead. "I wasn't trying to do it in like, a _gay_ way."

Ocelot had a retort lined up, but it seemed to be waysided by the absurdity of Eli's statement. "Not in a ' _gay way_ '," he repeated.

"Yeah, you know, like I, like, _like_ you, or anything —"

"Having gay sex with a man is already kind of gay, Eli."

"We haven't even _had_ sex yet," Eli complained. It was rather a sore point; no matter how much Eli begged for it, Ocelot wouldn't _do_ it. "You're too much of a fucking coward to fuck me, remember?"

Ocelot completely ignored the jab. "Oral sex is sex," he said.

"It barely even counts."

Ocelot squeezed his eyes shut as he massaged his temple. "I can't believe I ever agreed to be here."

"My lips can't taste any worse than my fucking cock," Eli groused.

Ocelot moved around behind the safety of his desk, and lowered himself back into his chair. He seemed to feel more possessed from that vantage. "I don't want to have that kind of relationship with you, Eli," he said, his tone kept carefully even.

"Neither do _I._ And kissing you doesn't mean anything."

"I don't have to explain myself to you. My decision is final."

"Ugh. You're so fucking gay," Eli spat, thoroughly disgusted. Eli was fifteen years old and he wasn't as much of a pussy as Ocelot. It was laughable. 

Ocelot seemed to be growing annoyed himself. "Are we done here?" 

"I guess so," Eli moodily concluded, and wasted no time in grabbing his coat and letting himself out of the office.

 

***

 

**9 February, 1988. St. Francis.**

Eli's appointment with Ocelot the following day was even more stilted and brief. Eli arrived, received what he wanted — at least as much as Ocelot was willing to give — and then left, without so much as a full proper sentence shared between them.

Honestly, Ocelot's pigheaded refusal to take things any further was starting to overcome the novelty. There were only so many times Eli could get sucked or fingered before he got _bored,_ but just asking for it clearly wasn't going to accomplish anything. He figured that maybe doing more of the same thing that got him this far in the first place would do the trick. 

Eli had been seeing Mary around campus more and more often, so it didn't take long for him to track her down. While she usually kept to herself, she seemed to have located a newfound boldness and courage since leaving the terror of her mother's pursuit behind. Eli found her in the middle of a walk down from her tower; he made a beeline for her immediately upon spotting her, to the girl's plainly apparent apprehension.

There was nowhere for Mary to escape, though, short of literally turning tail and _running._ But such a nice pious girl wasn't capable of such _rudeness_ — she simply consigned herself to gritting and bearing Eli's unwanted presence.

"Hi," Eli said, turning to fall into step with Mary. She'd been traveling in the precise opposite direction, so Eli had to completely redirect himself to follow her. 

"Hello, Eli," Mary said. Her eyes remained resolutely fixed ahead of her, despite Eli's intrusion. She had a pile of books clutched to her chest as she walked with clipped hasty steps.

Eli was not deterred by her plainly telegraphed disinterest in interacting with him. He just increased his own speed to keep pace. "I've got a question," he said. When Mary didn't say anything back, he just asked it. "You know things about — _Biology,_ right?"

Mary seemed surprised by the question. She finally spared him a glance, slowing her speed. "Well, I'm not an _expert,_ but..."

"Cool," Eli said. "So you can tutor me on it."

That brought her to a complete stop. "W-well, I'm not sure I —"

"When can we meet up? I got banned from sports so I'm free from after class right up to study hall."

Mary's face, already pink from the bite of the cold air, flushed with an abundance of color. "Erm... I didn't _agree_ to —"

"Come on, you've got to help me out," Eli said. "Really, I'm probably going to fail the course, unless I turn things around soon."

"I... um... I..."

At once, Mary's face morphed from a look of embarrassment to annoyance when she finally located a wellspring of courage. "Why are you so _interested_ in me?" she demanded. Her brows knit over her eyes in a severe look. "You disrespect my faith, insult me, act as if you despise me — and yet you continue to seek my company! Why?"

"Well," Eli began. He looked up into the sky. "I'm trying to piss off my father, I guess."

Mary seemed taken aback by the frankness of his response. She didn't quite know what to say. "Your father... he's Counselor Doe, is he not?"

"Um. Stepfather, I guess."

A look of clarity passed over Mary's face. "Ah... that makes sense." Her expression fell as she considered it further. Eli decided to start walking again, and despite her earlier eagerness to escape Eli's company, she quickly started to follow along. "But... why would seeing me make Counselor Doe angry? I didn't... I didn't know he disliked me."

"He doesn't dislike you," Eli said. "I don't know what his problem with you is. Honestly, I just think he's jealous because I'm fucking him and he thinks I might leave him for a _girl._ "

Mary inhaled the wrong way and began choking uncontrollably.

When Mary proved no longer capable of walking, Eli turned and gave her a sour look. " _What?_ " he demanded.

"You — you're _what?_ " she asked, staring at Eli with a bug-eyed incredulity. 

Eli rolled his eyes. "What are _you_ acting so surprised for? You're having an affair with _your_ fake dad, too."

"But — but — I —"

"What, is it because it's _homosexual?_ " Eli asked, sneering. "Is that not as _Christian_ as you fooling around with a fucking fifty year old grandfather?"

Mary looked so red that Eli wouldn't have been surprised if tomato juice came out her mouth the next time she opened it. "I — honestly, that's really the _least_ of my concerns! And I'd _really_ appreciate it if you'd be a little _quieter!_ "

It wasn't like anyone was _listening_ to them. Eli shook his head and turned back to keep walking. Mary eventually collected her bearings and caught up. "I can handle myself," Eli defensively insisted. "We're not _in love._ He just sucks my cock in his office sometimes, that's all."

Mary took a deep breath and fucking _crossed herself._ "That — that's not good, Eli!"

"Feels pretty fucking great, actually."

"You're _fifteen,_ " Mary protested, her voice so high it threatened to crack. She sounded like a shrill squeaking mouse. "He's taking advantage of you!"

Eli wasn't even sure where he was walking _to,_ but it amused him to have Mary chase him. She quickened her pace when he did. "Actually, I think I remember something about this from that book you like — how does it go? Something about glass houses?"

"The glass house proverb isn't from the Bible. There's John 8:7 where Jesus says 'Let him who is without sin' —"

Eli rolled his eyes. "Look, my _point_ is the same."

"That's _different._ J-Joachim _respects_ me, and agreed that we shalln't have such relations until after I am of age and we are _properly_ wedded in the eyes of God!"

Holy _shit,_ this girl was dense. He couldn't fucking stand how she spoke, either — she sounded like a fucking parody of herself. Eli laughed with exaggerated volume. "Oh, yeah, picking you up at, what, _twelve,_ and keeping you on _retainer_ while he waits for the clock to tick over is _so_ much better."

"That's — that's not — he didn't —"

Eventually, their walking brought them back to Wolf Hall. As he approached the door, Mary froze — she couldn't go into a _boy's dormitory,_ after all. "Eli!" she called out, looking borderline apoplectic.

Eli stopped with his hand on the door handle. " _What?_ " he asked.

"I'll — I'll —" She held her books tightly to her chest, eyes watering. She looked completely ridiculous. "I'm going to pray for you!"

"Oh, fuck off," Eli laughed, and went inside.

 

***

 

**10 February, 1988. Faculty quarters.**

Mary looked into the mirror and didn't like what she saw.

Mary looked and felt weak. She had a soft face and soft features, and soft hair and soft eyes. Her arms and legs were thin, and looked so fragile she might break. She owned no clothes that made her appear as if she were powerful, or commanded respect — they would look ridiculous on her anyway. Instead, Mary stood before the glass and was forced to contend with the reality that she was nothing but a little girl. 

It didn't embolden her for the task she'd undertaken, but even her fear and self-doubt couldn't shake the little thought in the back of her head that told her that this was the right thing to do. It would've been an act of cowardice to simply do _nothing._

So Mary straightened her skirt, fixed her hair and did her best to convince herself that she was strong enough, even if she didn't feel it. 

She headed down from the tower at around nine on Wednesday and made her way across the campus to the main administration building. No matter how long she'd called St. Francis her home, Mary was always a spectacle in the yard — she turned the head of every boy she passed, and it didn't always feel especially flattering. Mostly, Mary felt like a zoo animal in a cage.

The faculty and staff of the school greeted her enthusiastically as she passed through the hall of the building. They weren't so tactless as the boys, but she couldn't help but feel as if they subjected her to just as intense a scrutiny — maybe it was just paranoia, but she didn't think she was imagining the way people stared at her when they thought she wasn't looking. But why? What about her was so unusual? Could they _tell_ , just from looking at her and Joachim? Part of her couldn't help but wonder if any person she met might be just another of her mother's agents, secretly keeping watch in spite of her promise to finally let Mary go free.

She could never escape the fear. Sometimes she questioned whether running away changed anything at all.

But, for better or for worse, she did, and there she was, standing before the office of _Counselor Doe._ She gathered her courage and made two quick raps on the door; they felt so tentative she was already cursing her timidity. Straight away, the man called her in.

When she turned the handle of the door and let herself inside, Doe seemed very surprised indeed. "Mary," he said. 

Mary knew _of_ him, but she was fairly certain that she'd never spoken to this man before. Surely he had other means of having learned her name, but there was just something — she shook her head and chalked it up to her own paranoia again.

"A-ah," Mary began, already off to a wobbly start. "You are... Adam Doe, are you not?"

"Yes, I am," Doe answered. He had his legs crossed and his gloved hands folded neatly in his lap, and he looked at Mary with an expression of intent curiosity. "Can I help you?"

This was it. There was no turning back now. Mary squared her shoulders, held her head up high and steeled herself for the confrontation. "I'd like to speak to you about your _son,_ Eli," she declared, hoping she sounded even slightly sure of herself.

Doe's eyes immediately hardened, and Mary began to have second thoughts. "What about Eli?" he asked, his tone carrying a clear warning. 

Mary's hands trembled, so she clasped them in front of her skirt to disguise her nerves. "I... I've come because — because —" She began to speak in rapidfire. "Because I think your relationship with him is terribly inappropriate! Sir!"

The counselor didn't immediately react. Mary watched his face with her breath held for what felt like an eternity — she imagined any number of responses, but _laughing_ wasn't one of them.

He started out softly, but eventually the volume and intensity of his laughing grew until he was practically wiping tears away from his eyes. "You think my relationship with him is _inappropriate,_ " he repeated, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

Mary held her ground despite her fear, nodding her head. "Y-yes. I think... I think you're taking advantage of him, and... and it's _not right._ Frankly, I think the authorities ought to be involved."

Doe settled back into his chair with an easy composure. He wasn't unsettled in the least by Mary's accusation. "That's awfully funny, coming from you."

Mary felt a sickness in her stomach. What did _that_ mean? Did he — did he _know,_ about her and Joachim? Without thinking, she blurted out, " _What?_ Did Eli _tell_ you?"

Doe's smirk made Mary uncomfortable. "Tell me what?"

"N-nothing. I'm sorry — I — this was a _mistake,_ I don't know what I was thinking —"

Just as Mary turned to go, Doe called out her name — foolishly, she stopped at the door. She turned around and squeaked, "Yes?"

Doe rose from behind his desk and slowly made his way over to where Mary was stood. Frozen with fear, she stared at him as a helpless deer might stare down a big cat.

With nowhere else to go, Mary backed herself up against the door. Doe leaned on his arm against the frame, looming over her with a threatening smile. "I'd like you to do me a favor, Mary," he said, tone laced with false affability.

"W... what would that be?" Mary asked, holding her hands to her chest defensively.

He reached closer, and closer, and closer, until his mouth was right by her ear, and he whispered, "Mind your own business."

Mary jolted and Doe pulled back. He was still uncomfortably close, but made no move to touch her; he simply looked down at her with an unnerving stare that made her feel like nothing.

"Um... yes, sir," Mary pitifully capitulated. "I'm... I'm very sorry — this was terribly rude of me, and —"

"Just run along," Doe said. He turned back to his desk and waved her away. "Don't let me catch you meddling again."

Mary took a deep breath and let herself out of the office.

With the altercation behind her, Mary felt like she wanted to cry. She'd completely failed — she was spineless and useless, just as she'd thought, and she'd done nothing but make everything worse. 

Mary took a step forward, and then another, and when she finally willed herself to walk, she navigated the long hallways and started out across the yard.

She hoped that Eli wouldn't be hurt because of her. She knew even before meeting him that any man willing to touch a boy in such a way was an abomination, but her fears had just been confirmed a hundredfold; there was a terrible _sickness_ to Eli's father that permeated every glance and every movement. She felt uncomfortable in his presence, and even more uncomfortable when he spoke. There were few men of whose evil she had been so immediately and readily convinced; not even her mother inspired such instinctive moral revulsion.

By the time Mary made it back to the faculty quarters and climbed her way up the exhaustingly endless stairs of her tower, she simply felt drained and empty. It made her feel so powerless to be burdened with such a terrible knowledge that she could do nothing about. 

She released a shaky sigh as she opened up the door to her room and let herself inside — and was startled to discover that she wasn't alone.

"Joachim," Mary said, when she found that Joachim was just standing about in her room. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Simply wondered where you'd gone," Joachim said. He affected a tone of disinterest, flipping through a book he'd found on her desk. Mary noted with mild irritation that he'd dislodged her bookmark.

"Need I report to you every time I wish to have a simple walk in the yard?" Mary said, narrowing her eyes. 

Joachim turned and looked up from the book. "Mary," he sighed.

"Yes, yes, I know — it's because you _worry_ about me," Mary said. In order to avoid having to look at him, Mary walked to her vanity and sat down, and busied herself with brushing her hair.

"Mary," Joachim said again. "Have I done something to upset you?"

" _Upset_ me?" Mary said, looking over her shoulder. "No, you haven't _upset_ me. I simply have the same exasperation with your penchant for _hovering_ as I always have, and I am expressing my _mild annoyance,_ as I always have."

"Well, I'm glad it's only _mild._ "

Mary gave a small huff and returned to brushing her hair. It was always a lot of work to keep it free of snarls. 

Just when Mary thought he'd finally given up on pestering her, Joachim spoke up again. "So... just a walk, you say?"

Mary heaved a _tremendous_ sigh, flung her brush back down onto the vanity and rose from her seat. "If you must know, I went to speak with counselor Adam Doe because his son told me that he was being _molested._ "

Well, that certainly wasn't the answer Joachim was expecting. " _Goodness,_ " he said.

"And I think that you should fire him," Mary insisted. "He's a danger to all of the children here at St. Francis."

Joachim raised his eyebrows. "I fear there might be a sense of irony in me doing so."

"What?" Mary responded, incredulous.

"There's a reason we have to keep our relationship a secret, Mary."

Mary had _had_ it. "Good _Lord!_ Am I the _only_ one who thinks there is a difference between the relationship _we_ have and a _monster_ who is _raping his son!?_ " she shouted. 

"Mary, calm down."

Now Mary _was_ getting upset. " _Calm down?_ " she echoed. "You want me to _calm down_ about _child rape?_ "

"I would like for the faculty to not hear you screaming 'child rape' from your tower, Mary."

Mary crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. "They'll hear a whole lot more than _that,_ if you keep speaking this manner of nonsense," she said.

Joachim shook his head. He knew it was an empty threat. "I simply worry about how much Adam _knows_ about you, and _us,_ and how he might retaliate if I were to take action."

"Eli and his father know nothing," Mary quickly said, but she knew she was veering into dangerous territory now. Joachim always seemed to have a way of knowing when she was lying.

Joachim narrowed his eyes. "You're sure of this? You've not told the boy _anything_ about us?"

"No, I haven't," Mary answered, and she prayed to God that her expression and voice were steady enough that Joachim would believe her. He studied her face carefully, but eventually looked back down to her book; she released a breath in relief.

"I've met Eli," Joachim said. "He is incredibly volatile, and prone to acting out. Are you sure he's even telling the _truth_ about this?"

"I —"

Mary seized up. She hadn't even _considered_ that Eli might have been _lying_ to her about something like that — she wished she could say she doubted him capable of it. And it was an awfully _symmetrical_ claim, one he'd know would upset her on an incredibly personal level — and —

But as horrible as it was to say, Mary didn't _want_ it to be a lie. She wasn't sure that she could even _look_ at Eli again if she discovered that he'd completely fabricated a claim of that nature. It would take simply an unspeakable level of immorality to even consider doing such a thing. 

And there was the matter of Eli's _father!_ He hadn't said in so many words what he'd done, but it was unmistakable that he had understood exactly the crime of which he was being accused. No innocent man would've tried to intimidate her the way that he did. 

"No, I'm quite sure it's the truth," Mary said. "Eli is... Eli is _theatrical,_ but I really do believe that he is being hurt."

"And you're sure he's being hurt?" Joachim asked. "How do you know he hasn't consented to this?"

"You can't be _serious,_ " Mary said. "He's — he's _fifteen._ There is no _way_ he is prepared to — to have _sex_ with an _adult man!_ "

"Is that not what your mother said of _you,_ when you told her we wanted to be together?"

It felt like a knife to the gut. How could he _say_ that? "That's different, Joachim! It's not about _sex_ — we're in _love!_ "

"Is sex truly the only thing that makes such a relationship imbalanced?"

"I don't — I don't _understand,_ " Mary said. This entire line of conversation was just _bizarre._ "Are you trying to _convince_ me that you're — that you're _molesting_ me?"

"No," Joachim quickly answered. "I merely hope you haven't lost track of how the rest of society sees us, Mary. I worry your idyllic romanticizations leave you vulnerable and cut off from the outside world."

"The only thing that is cutting me off from the outside world is _your_ overbearing nature," Mary snapped.

Joachim's eyes darkened, and Mary knew that she'd gone too far. "I don't appreciate being spoken to as if my concern for you makes me worse than your mother, Mary," he said. While Joachim allowed her to speak candidly and treat him as an equal, he wasn't without his limits — but like _Hell_ was she going to cower before him today. 

"And _I_ don't appreciate being spoken to as if I were an idiot child!" Mary shot back.

"Sometimes you _act_ like —"

"Unbelievable!" Mary shouted. "You are — just — un _believable!_ Get out of my room!"

"Mary —"

Mary stomped over to her bed, and picked up one of her pillows to hurl it at Joachim's head. "I said get out!"

" _Mary_ —"

When Joachim wasn't immediately motivated to leave, Mary hurled another. This time, he simply knocked the pillow clear of his head with an arm and advanced, his face set into a dark scowl.

Mary eventually ran out of pillows, and had nothing left to stop Joachim in his approach. When he reached out for her, she squealed and tried to hit him; he grabbed both her wrists in a firm grasp and left her defenseless. "Mary. Listen to me."

Mary stopped, frozen, her eyes filled with tears. Her lip trembled but she was _determined_ not to cry. "You're _hurting me,_ " she whimpered.

Joachim released her wrists at once, but then took her by the shoulders; his hands were gentle but no less controlling. "Mary," he began, lowering his voice to a comforting tone. "This isn't just about you anymore. You _know_ that."

Mary couldn't help it. The tears spilled out the corners of her eyes. She hated to cry; it was such a humiliating spectacle and display of weakness. She hated that she couldn't help but be so _weak._ "I know," she sobbed. "I know. I know. I know."

Joachim released Mary's shoulders, and without his support she fell to her knees. Joachim only watched her as she cried, desperately willing herself to stop. "Would you like me to give you some time to yourself?" he asked. 

"Yes," Mary choked.

Finally, Mary was left alone.

 

***

 

Eli expected that his next session with Ocelot would be much the same as the last.

He headed for Ocelot's office immediately upon being released from classes for the day, and wasted no time in disrobing once he'd let himself inside. "This time I want you to eat me out again," he said, clumsily kicking off his shoes. "Then use your fingers. Three this time, I can take it. I've been trying it myself when I —"

Ocelot hadn't moved from behind his desk, and he was watching Eli with a very cold stare. "Eli," he said, stopping the boy in his tracks.

"What?" Eli asked, hands stilled at the catch of his fly.

"Stop it. Sit down."

" _Why?_ "

Ocelot didn't even make a show of being annoyed, which was itself strange. He simply shifted his eyes to the chair across from his desk and repeated himself in an emotionless tone. "Sit down."

Eli reluctantly obeyed the direction. He moved over to the chair in his disarray of clothing and sat down, waiting expectantly for an explanation. "Okay. I'm _sitting,_ " he said.

Ocelot stared at Eli for a time. It made Eli uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, Eli could infer his anger from the icy artifice of his restraint. "Mary came to see me," he said.

_Oh._

Jesus Christ. Eli hadn't even expected that the girl could be _that_ stupid. He opened his mouth to explain, but Ocelot interrupted him. "How could you be so completely _careless?_ "

"I — I wasn't trying to —"

"You realize that my cover could be easily blown, now that I'm on Kugler's radar," Ocelot said. "You may have compromised _everything_ that I've been working towards here."

"I didn't say _anything_ about what you're doing here. I don't even know what that _is,_ " Eli defensively replied. "All I told her was that you were fucking me, and I _guess_ that made her upset. I didn't think that she would try to be a fucking _hero._ "

Ocelot's face contorted in disbelief. " _Why?_ Why would you think it was appropriate to tell _anyone_ about what we've been doing together?"

Well — Eli figured he may as well cash in on his efforts. "I just thought that if you caught me hanging around her again you might be willing to fuck me to get me to stop."

Ocelot stared at Eli as if he were a complete fucking idiot. Eli looked back, feeling kind of like one. 

"We're done. This is done," Ocelot said. Something like shock and regret dropped into Eli's stomach, but Ocelot spoke over him before he could protest. "I shouldn't have ever done it in the first place."

"Wait," Eli said, rising from his chair. "You can't. You can't just — you can't just _cut me off!_ "

"I can, and I will," Ocelot said, fixing Eli with a dour expression.

Eli sneered, balling his hands into fists at his side. He wasn't going to beg — he didn't need to. "Bullshit. You want this more than I do. You won't be able to hold back, now you've had the taste."

Ocelot said nothing, but the way he broke eye contact communicated enough. Eli was boiling with petulant anger. "You think you're punishing _me?_ I'm just a fucking horny teenager. I don't give a _shit_ about you. You mean _nothing_ to me. I can get my cock sucked by anybody and it doesn't make a difference. But you? You're fucking _pathetic._ You're a desperate old piece of shit clinging to the fucking _offal_ of a man who never even spent one _second_ thinking about you. I'm the closest you'll _ever_ get — I'm the best you'll _ever_ do. When I leave here I'll just fucking get on with my life, but you'll spend _every single moment_ of the rest of _yours_ regretting that you had me and let me go. It's fucking _sad,_ is what it is."

When Eli was finished, Ocelot did nothing but stare back with a blank gaze. "Are you done?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am," Eli spat. He figured that was as good a time as any to make his leave — he turned to grab up his things and march himself out of the office without a single look back.


	19. Don't You Know?

The high of victory swiftly morphed into panic.

The prospect of going back to jerking off into the toilet every day was frankly unimaginable. Eli had grown _very_ used to having a convenient and frequent sexual release, and it was much more critical that he retain access to it than he wanted to let on. It really wasn't likely that Eli was going to find a satisfying replacement easily, at least not before he went completely insane from the deprivation.

Eli was almost starting to regret trashing Ocelot so thoroughly. While it was certainly satisfying, it made it substantially less likely that Ocelot would renegotiate his decision to end their relationship. Eli was going to have to do something drastic.

By the time the 12th came around, it was the beginning of Lent half-term and Eli had formally resolved to run away. He figured there was pretty much no way he could lose — either he'd get what he wanted, or he would be free of this horrible prison. Eli was shoving his clothes into a bag when Samuel let himself back into their room. 

Samuel moved over to his own bed and carefully watched Eli for a time — when he spoke up, his question was carefully restrained. "Are you not staying for half-term?"

"No," Eli said. He couldn't get his bag to close and it was driving him crazy.

"... Where are you going?"

"Away from here." Eventually, Eli gave up even packing. What did he need all of this clothing for anyway? Everything would just slow him down. He groaned loudly and kicked the bag onto the floor. Its contents flopped out in a messy heap. "Fuck it!"

"Are you leaving... now?"

"Yes."

"It's snowing outside, you know," Samuel said, looking to the window. The snow was, indeed, coming down heavily.

"I don't _fucking_ care!"

Samuel recoiled from the brunt of Eli's anger. He fell silent, and thankfully offered no more irritating commentary.

Eli stomped about the room, generating a cacophony of irritated sounds as he gathered all he figured he'd really need — a coat, some gloves and his knife. He'd leave the rest of it. He'd survived with less before. 

 

***

 

As Eli trudged through the snow, he found that there was very little he didn't regret.

It was a simple matter to sneak off of the campus; he'd just had to slip off into the woods and double back to make it past the wall separating the school from the snaking road. The drive to the little house up the hill must have only taken about 30 minutes from the school, so he couldn't have imagined it would seem that far — walk maybe an hour or two and he'd be there, he'd been sure.

But he'd been walking for four hours already, fingers and toes all but frozen off, and he knew there was a long ways to go yet. The route hadn't been complicated, but with the streets blanketed with snow and his visibility all but reduced to nothing by the intensifying curtain of white in the darkness of the night, it was hard for him to know where he was. He wasn't entirely sure he was still going in the right direction. 

It was so cold. Eli's coat was too light, his thin gloves were soaked through, and he didn't bring a hat or a scarf. His boots weren't made for winter; the snow had gotten into them easily, and he'd given up even trying to dig the chunks out. He was shivering convulsively and he tried to keep his hands close to his body to stay warm, but there didn't feel like there was much warmth in his body left.

There was no point in turning back. He'd already come this far, and if he didn't make it to the house, he wouldn't make it back to the school, either. He simply had to carry on in the face of all odds, just as he'd always done.

Eli walked until his legs were so cold he struggled to even lift them. The snowflakes felt like ice daggers on his exposed flesh.

It occurred then to Eli that there was a good chance he might actually die.

He wasn't sure what to do. He thought he remembered that the next town over was in the exact opposite direction of where he was heading, and he wasn't sure he could've found his way there anyway. He might have had some luck trying to hitch-hike, but not many people drove up this way even when the roads were clear. The last car Eli saw pass by must have been more than two hours ago.

All he knew was that stopping wasn't an option, so he just kept moving. He'd lost sight of where he'd even intended to go — he simply moved forward, one foot at a time, and refused to fall to the freezing snow.

The storm was really starting to pick up by the time Eli heard another car nearing. His heart leaped into his throat, and he whirled around — maybe if he flagged the motorist down, they'd take him somewhere warm. 

Eli trudged out into the center of the road and waited. 

The car approached slowly through the dangerous accumulations of snow, and came to stop in front of Eli. The driver flashed his high beams, and Eli shielded his face.

"Get in," Ocelot said from the car.

Even frozen as he was, Eli managed to find an inner wellspring of self-satisfaction. He tucked his hands into his sides and made his way over to the open door of the passenger side. He let himself into the warmth of the vehicle, and clenched his jaw to stop himself from shivering.

Ocelot didn't say anything as he started the car back up again and carried along the perilously icy road. Eli didn't say anything, either. What was there to say?

It turned out he hadn't been far from the house after all; Ocelot turned down an unpaved road and fought his way up the hill until he was parked just outside their destination. Eli probably would've missed the road into the woods completely if he'd made it that far.

Eli followed Ocelot out of the car and into the building. It was much colder in the house than in the car, but Eli was too iced to even really register it. Ocelot went to start a fire in the fireplace straight away, and Eli sat as close to it as he could get.

"Take off your clothes," Ocelot demanded.

Eli looked up over his shoulder to where Ocelot stood. It was impossible to disguise his shivering now. "W-what?"

"Your clothes are wet. If you don't get changed, you'll still freeze to death."

"Oh. R... right."

Eli pulled off his coat and his soaked gloves, and Ocelot took them away to hang them to dry. When he kicked off his boots, water and chunks of snow gushed out of them in a flood. He recoiled away from the pool of icy water. 

When Eli moved on to trying to remove his shirt, he found the mechanical act to be frustratingly difficult. His fingers were so numb and frozen that he felt more like he was using lead clubs than hands. He fumbled uselessly with the buttons.

"Here, I'll do it," Ocelot eventually sighed, after he grew tired of watching the pathetic spectacle. 

Eli shakily pulled himself to his feet and managed to stand still long enough for Ocelot to deftly unbutton the front of his shirt. His skin tingled where Ocelot's gloved fingers brushed him; the warmth seemed to engulf him when Ocelot's hands ran over his shoulders and pushed the fabric away.

Ocelot folded the shirt over his arm, and then gestured demonstrably at Eli's legs. "Pants," he said.

Eli hesitated, but — well, it was obviously nothing Ocelot hadn't seen before. It felt weirder now, though, for reasons he couldn't place. Nevertheless, he managed to get his trousers off with neither a physical nor mental breakdown.

Ocelot took the rest of Eli's clothes into the washroom to hang, and then disappeared into the bedroom. Eli lowered himself back down in front of the fire, shaking. He didn't see Ocelot emerge — he was alerted to Ocelot's return by a heavy blanket being dropped over his head.

Eli was too fucked up to even bother getting mad about it. He gratefully pulled the blanket around his body as he shivered; he'd become just warm enough now that he could actually feel the runniness in his nose. He sniffled.

"What did you think you were _doing?_ " Ocelot finally asked.

Eli gave an approximation of a laugh. "I was trying to walk here," he answered.

" _Why?_ "

It was sort of difficult to admit to his anger after ending their last altercation with a declaration of how unaffected he was, and he hadn't honestly expected that Ocelot would _really_ come for him. "Sick of school. Figured it was time for me to go on to something better," Eli said, affecting a casual shrug.

Ocelot clearly had no patience for Eli's glib attitude. "You could've died," he chided. "What were you even thinking? What did you think you were going to do when you got here?"

"I thought..." He hadn't thought, really. "I thought maybe my mother would be here."

Ocelot sounded nearly angry. "Well, she isn't. She's not even in the country, Eli."

"Where is she?" Eli demanded. "I want to see my mother."

"She might be in Africa, or America, or in some fucking prison camp in Iraq, for all I know. Not even I know where she is. She certainly won't magically appear just because you went and hurt yourself like an idiot," Ocelot said. Then, as if to disavow Eli of any notion that he might have a genuine personal interest in his safety, Ocelot added, "If anything happens to you EVA, will _kill_ me."

Eli fell silent, and looked into the crackling flames of the fireplace. They radiated warm heat onto his skin, but none of it felt like enough. He could still feel Ocelot's eyes on his back.

"... Were you going to tell her about us? To retaliate against me?" Ocelot asked.

He'd thought about it. "Maybe."

"Well... don't."

Eli's look must have not been very threatening coming from a shivering boy swaddled in blankets, but he tried it all the same. "Why shouldn't I?"

Ocelot didn't immediately respond. His eyes shifted from Eli to the fire to the window on the far side of the cabin, and when he looked back to Eli, he'd consciously softened his expression. "You're definitely never going to convince me to touch you again if I'm _not alive._ "

The levity struck him as a bit ridiculous, but Eli laughed. He wasn't sure what game Ocelot had just decided he was playing, but Eli would accept the tenuous offer of a truce. He turned his gaze back to the glow of the fire. "How's the storm?"

Ocelot sighed and moved to look out the window. "Still coming down," he said.

Eli rubbed his arms and muttered, "The winters here aren't usually so bad..."

Ocelot tapped an inner reserve of smugness. Eli almost enjoyed the familiar disdain. "This is only a couple inches," Ocelot laughed. "You've never even _seen_ snow, kid."

"Fuck off," Eli grumbled.

"I don't particularly want to drive in this, though. I guess we'll stay here for the night, at least."

Eli certainly wasn't especially eager to leave his place in front of the fire, and it _was_ getting late. He didn't argue with the decision.

Did Ocelot want to do it, _now?_ It didn't seem like it was an especially opportune time to just _ask,_ so Eli kept quiet, but he _wondered._ What the fuck was Ocelot up to?

Eli wasn't sure he'd ever have an answer to that question.

Ocelot walked to the kitchen and went about rooting around in the cupboards. Eli watched him with a careful eye. "What are you doing?"

"Looking to see what we have," Ocelot said. "How British did they make you?"

" _What?_ "

"I don't know whether EVA went shopping off a list of stereotypes or what. All we've got here is tea and some biscuits. And _one_ sausage I'm pretty sure has been rotting here for months. I'll... throw that out."

"What kind of tea is it?"

Ocelot picked up the small box and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. "Uh... I _think_ it's tea?"

Eli sniffled, annoyed. He couldn't see the box from where he was sitting. "Black tea? Green tea?"

After looking long enough, he seemed to locate some sort of description. "Um... all it says is 'oolong'," Ocelot said.

"Oh."

"Well, do you _want_ it?"

"... Fine, I guess."

Ocelot picked up a saucepan, filled it with water and put it on the stove. Thankfully, Eli and EVA had gathered an abundance of kindling the last time they'd stayed in the cabin, so Ocelot was able to start a fire in the wood stove without incident. When the it boiled, Ocelot handed Eli the mug of hot water and a packet of tea. "Here, you do it how you want it."

Eli accepted the offering, but couldn't resist asking. "Do you even know _how_ to make tea? Even just with one of these?"

Ocelot looked down at Eli blankly. "You heat the water, then..."

Eli wasn't really sure how Ocelot was even still alive, honestly. Eli was fifteen years old and even his meager culinary ability was more advanced than this adult man's. "You're supposed to be a _spy,_ " he said, disbelieving.

Ocelot let himself take a seat on the couch across from the fire. "Never in my life has the ability to make tea ever been relevant to a mission," he said.

Eli set the mug down on the floor in front of him, opened the packet and let the bag steep in the water. "What if you have to, like, fuck the queen?"

Ocelot raised an eyebrow. "I can think of a few reasons that would disqualify me from going on a mission to fuck the queen more relevant than that one."

"I could fuck the queen," Eli said. "It wouldn't be fun, that's for sure. Fucking a saggy old lady like that. But if I had to, I'd be able to make it happen."

"... You've thought about this."

"What? You _haven't?_ "

Ocelot grimaced. "I — no. I've never thought about having sex with the queen before. Not even once. And I'm not enjoying it now."

When Eli was satisfied with the color of the water, he removed the teabag and took an experimental sip. Eli wasn't a particularly big fan of tea, really. He could take it or leave it. But he was surprised by how palatable this kind was — he'd never tried it before. The flavor was pretty nice, and the heat of the drink certainly helped against the cold, though it was still a bit too hot to drink comfortably. He set the mug back on the ground to let it cool just a bit more. "Have you ever even fucked _any_ woman before?" he asked, once he'd run out of things to do to the tea.

Ocelot paused before answering. "That depends on your definition of fucked."

"Not counting anything you did as _torture._ "

"Then..." Ocelot shrugged his shoulders. "I've slept with your mother," he said.

Thankfully, Eli managed to not spit out the mouthful of tea he'd just taken. He hastily swallowed it before choking, " _What?_ "

Ocelot seemed amused by how displeased Eli was to hear that. "It was before you were even born. Don't worry about it."

"But — you — she —"

"I'm pretty sure everybody slept with EVA at least once," Ocelot said, his tone contemplative. "Why, do you want _details?_ "

"Ugh, no," Eli retched. Now he was just _imagining_ things. He wiped at his mouth and diverted the subject away from his mother. "Was she really the only time? I mean, it's not like you're... bad looking, exactly." 

Ocelot would certainly look better if he'd shave his ridiculous paedophile mustache, but Eli could admit that it wasn't completely horrible to look at him. "Thanks," Ocelot replied to the faint praise, dry.

Eli rolled his eyes. "You're fit _enough._ Some other girls must have wanted to fuck you."

"I guess. I'm just not especially into..." Ocelot made a gesture with his hand circling over the front of his body that Eli found completely undecipherable. "You know, all of that."

"What?"

"All of the parts. The girl parts."

"What? Like, tits and pussy?"

"Yeah."

Eli was honestly completely perplexed and somewhat fascinated by Ocelot's limited preferences. How could you look at a tit and not _like_ it? It just seemed like a self-evident fact that girls were hot. "But those parts are great."

"How would you know?"

"I will, someday," Eli confidently proclaimed. "I could fuck any girl I wanted, if there were any girls to even fuck around here. I've got a big cock."

Ocelot responded to that with a slight upward tilt of his eyes and a scoff, as if he thought the statement _ridiculous._ Eli bristled. "What, is _that_ why you won't fuck me? Have you got a small cock?"

Ocelot seemed to be aware that taking the bait was ill advised, but he grew defensive despite himself. "No, that's not —"

Eli started laughing. "But it's smaller than mine, isn't it?"

"I —" Ocelot stalled and grimaced. This was a _riot._

"Wow, that must be embarrassing. Being smaller than a fifteen year old boy."

Ocelot tried to put on an adult and authoritative tone. "Eli."

"See, if I were you, I'd just deny it outright," Eli said, grinning broadly. Ocelot broke eye contact. "But you can't, can you? Because you know you're gonna let me see it eventually, and then I'd _really_ have a reason to laugh at you. _Lying_ about the size of your cock. How _pathetic_ would that be?"

"... My penis is perfectly fine," Ocelot grumbled.

Eli let out a snorting laugh and toppled onto his side, exaggerating his malicious mirth. The more uncomfortable Ocelot grew, the more pleased Eli was. Eventually, Ocelot stood and looked down over Eli with stern fatherly disapproval. "I think it's past your bedtime," he declared.

Eli _was_ getting pretty tired, but there was more fun to be had. "Sleep with me," he said.

Ocelot sighed heavily. "Eli, no —"

"Not like _that._ I nearly froze to death, right? I'll need some help staying warm, after all that," Eli said. "Come on. It's a good excuse. You can tell yourself you're not doing it for whatever reason you actually are."

Eli smiled with false innocence, and Ocelot scowled down at him with his arms crossed.

"You can sleep in the bed. I'll take the couch," Ocelot said, and turned to move into the bedroom, presumably to prepare bedding.

"Wait," Eli said, dropping his deliberately grating demeanor. Ocelot stopped and turned his head. "It's already really cold in here. It could get even colder in the night. I mean, I really _could_ freeze. I'm not _just_ fucking with you."

He was _mostly_ fucking with him. He hadn't been out in the snow _that_ long, and he already felt _basically_ fine again. It wasn't that cold in the cabin. Ocelot didn't need to know that, though.

Ocelot looked phenomenally troubled by the prospect; his expression borderlined on constipated. It was hard for Eli to not laugh at him, but he didn't want to tip it into a no.

When Ocelot failed to make a decision either way, Eli sighed, climbed to his feet beneath his blanket and walked past Ocelot into the bedroom, without looking to see if he would follow.

It was a long while after Eli lay down that Ocelot entered the bedroom; he was pulled away from the cusp of sleep by the sounds of footsteps. Eli shifted and opened his eyes, able to distinguish only vague shapes in the darkness.

Ocelot was _watching_ him. It was honestly a bit unnerving, even to Eli, so he sighed and sat up. "Come here," Eli said.

Ocelot didn't listen.

"What are you so _afraid_ of?" Eli asked.

Finally, Ocelot approached the bed. He sat on the far edge and worked off his boots. Eli could only see the dark shadow of Ocelot's back, but he could hear the sound of them falling to the floor.

Eli sat with his hands in his lap as Ocelot turned and depressed the mattress with a knee. He hadn't even taken his belt off. 

"Take off your clothes. You won't be comfortable," Eli demanded.

"No," Ocelot said.

Eli sighed and reached out to pull Ocelot down beside him and under the covers anyway.

Ocelot's body was warm against his. It really was pleasant to lay beside someone in the cold. Ocelot was reluctant to touch him, but he didn't draw away when Eli pressed himself closer. Eli could feel the heat of Ocelot's breath ghosting over his skin.

Eli tried to kiss him again, but Ocelot turned his head away before Eli could hit his mark. "Eli, stop it," Ocelot protested — so Eli kissed his unpleasantly bristly chin instead, and then his neck, splaying his hand out over Ocelot's stomach. Eli could feel his musculature even though the fabric of his shirt. Eli didn't fail to notice how Ocelot pushed up into his touch.

But when Eli tried to ruck up his shirt and slip his fingers under the untucked hem, Ocelot produced a disgruntled noise, roughly took Eli by the wrists and pinned them beside his head.

Eli relented and looked up at Ocelot's face, dimly illuminated by the soft light from the window. It was hard to make out much at night, but he could see enough to make do. Eli wasn't sure he'd ever really _looked_ at Ocelot before — the man truly felt his age then, not so much from the lines of his face, but the intense clarity of his eyes beneath the weighty set of his scowl and the way he looked back at Eli as if he were staring straight through him to something distant and unknowable.

Eli lay beneath Ocelot, unmoving. His skin was bare and his arousal obvious. He made no more attempt to aggress because he didn't need to; the way Ocelot's eyes raked over his body spoke clearly enough of the effect he'd had, even without the erection pressed against his inner thigh.

Eli slowly trailed his calf over the back of Ocelot's thigh, until he could press his heel into the small of Ocelot's back. He felt Ocelot's grip on his wrists tighten to the point of pain, but he relished the sensation. Eli tilted his head to the side to arch his neck and breathed, "Fuck me."

Ocelot wanted to, he could tell. It took every fiber of his being to restrain himself. 

But Eli could not for the life of him understand _why_. There wasn't even a _problem._ He wanted to, and Eli wanted to. It wasn't as if Ocelot had ever concerned hmself with _morality_ — any other man might have balked at Eli's age, but why the fuck was _Ocelot_ holding himself back? Eli would've expected Ocelot capable of fucking a child half as young without a shred of guilt.

So what was it? Was Ocelot reluctant to betray Eli's mother? Big Boss? But his father surely didn't even care whether Eli lived or died, let alone who he fucked. If Ocelot felt so strongly about his father, why wouldn't he jump at the chance to get a piece of him in whatever small way?

Ocelot wasn't about to tell him. He sighed and at once he turned Eli onto his side, settling in against his back with an arm over his chest in a crushing grip. Eli wasn't sure whether Ocelot was just trying to restrain him or desperately clinging to his body.

The position made Ocelot's _incredibly_ hard cock especially evident. "Why do you torture yourself like this?" Eli asked.

Ocelot didn't answer.

Well, now Eli knew Ocelot wasn't _small_ , at least. 

While Ocelot was evidently content to suffer, Eli needed to take a more direct approach to alleviating his situation. His dick had been so hard for so long his fucking balls were starting to hurt. So he awkwardly shifted his arm to reach down and take matters into his own hand.

Surely Ocelot could tell what was happening from how he was holding Eli, but he didn't try to stop Eli from doing it. Eli wasn't especially vocal when he jacked off, but he indulged in a slight exaggeration just to twist the knife.

Eli was so keyed up that it didn't take long for him to come. He reached back to spitefully wipe his sticky hand on Ocelot's pants.

It was kind of impressive how long Ocelot stayed hard, even after they'd stopped moving entirely. He lay as still and stiff as a corpse, his grip over Eli's chest and shoulder unrelenting. It was honestly a little uncomfortable.

Ocelot fell asleep before Eli did; only once Ocelot had fallen into unconsciousness was Eli able to extract himself from the crushing hold.

Eli was actually sort of surprised that Ocelot fell asleep at all — that he'd actually _trust_ Eli enough to be _unconscious_ beside him. It grew honestly unthinkable, the longer he stared disbelievingly down at Ocelot's closed eyes. Eli figured there were only two options: either Ocelot was very convincingly faking it, or he was _hoping_ that Eli would take advantage of the opportunity.

But as Eli gazed down contemplatively at Ocelot's unguarded fly, Eli found that he didn't want to get fucked so much as he wanted to _win_. Letting Ocelot get it so easily was completely out of the question — Eli was going to make Ocelot fucking _break_ for him. When the time came, there wouldn't be a single excuse left to hide behind.

So instead of indulging in anything untoward, Eli gently pushed Ocelot onto his back and settled into a more comfortable position against his side. Without concern for Ocelot's scheming, sleep came easily.


	20. Angel

**22 February, 1988. St. Francis.**

Eli returned to school, and Ocelot returned to sucking his cock.

In the end, Ocelot couldn't resist it. It was honestly laughable that he'd even pretended to try to begin with — but he eventually found his rightful place on his knees. Eli capped off the first school day back by ejaculating into Ocelot's eye.

"Fuck!" Ocelot shouted, before he hit his head on the underside of his own desk.

Eli sat back easily in Ocelot's chair, laughing as Ocelot desperately tried to rub the burning semen from his eye. He hadn't meant to do it, but fuck if it wasn't hilarious to watch.

Ocelot didn't seem nearly so amused by it. He pushed past Eli to crawl out from beneath the desk, spilling forth a torrent of obscenities, as he desperately sought some sort of method to irrigate his eye. He ended up finding a water bottle in one of his office cabinets and proceeded to dump the contents onto his face.

Ocelot turned back to glare at Eli with one red and inflamed eye, dripping water from his nose and chin. It only made Eli laugh harder.

"That hurts, you know," Ocelot said, rubbing at his eye for good measure. "You won't be laughing when this happens to you."

Eli smiled, spreading his legs in his seat. He still hadn't put his cock away. "Want a little payback? I won't mind."

"Eli."

Eli sighed and shook his head. "I know, I know," he said, standing up once he'd made himself decent. "Well, thanks, daddy. See you tomorrow."

He was _pretty sure_ he heard Ocelot throw a book at the door once he'd let himself out.

Honestly, Eli had mostly given up on ever convincing Ocelot to fuck. If he hadn't already budged after what happened over Lent break, what was the likelihood that he _ever_ would? Maybe being viciously blueballed was just Ocelot's _fetish_.

Whatever it was, there was no sense in putting any more time or energy into a dead end. He'd use Ocelot as a glorified masturbation device and find someone else to fuck — surely there had to be some crooked teacher fishing for boys in a Catholic school. Maybe he'd try to hit up the school chaplain. Until then, Ocelot's mouth was good _enough._

Eli was in a pretty good mood as he came down the steps from reception. His head felt clear, and his classes hadn't assigned much work, so his schedule was freed up. All he had to do was stop by the library to pick up a book for a class and he was done for the day.

Eli made his way over to the library and hunted down the book, and he was just about to check it out when he spotted her in the stacks.

He hadn't seen Mary since before Lent half-term, when she went and nearly ruined fucking everything. He felt a flare of anger upon seeing her, and couldn't resist sparking the confrontation.

Mary squeaked and dropped her armful of books on the ground when Eli suddenly came up beside her and said hello.

"Eli!" Mary exclaimed, dropping to her knees to frantically gather up all she'd spilled on the floor. "I — I didn't hear you coming!"

Eli made no move to help her. He looked down at her impassively as she struggled to manage her excessive burden. Eventually, Mary seemed to blanch under his scrutiny. "I-is something the matter?" she stammered. 

"Well, it got back to me that you spoke to my stepfather about what I told you."

"O-oh... um..." Mary awkwardly climbed to her feet. "I. Er. Whew, I... uhh... well, yes, I guess that was a thing I went and did, wasn't it? Oh boy, haha... oh dear."

Eli grimace as he watched Mary visibly sweat in front of him. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" Mary asked, smiling uncomfortably.

"No."

"I... I didn't think so. Oh well."

" _Oh well?_ " Eli echoed, growing increasingly irritated. "Do you even _know_ how badly you could've fucked things up for me?"

"I just — I just didn't want you to get hu—"

" _Get hurt?_ Oh, yeah. Great fucking plan. Just tell him that I fucking _told_ someone about us, that's _really_ going to keep me safe! Have you gone and told Joachim too?"

Mary responded with comical shock, producing a bizarre strangled whisper-shriek in an unfathomably high-pitched register, "Don't say that name!!!!!!"

"I'll call him whatever I bloody well please," Eli growled. " _Did_ you tell him? Answer me."

Mary's facial reaction spoke loudly enough even if she couldn't choke out the words. Eli clicked his tongue. "Of course you did. But, of course, he didn't do anything about it, did he? He hears that one of his employees is molesting little boys and he does _nothing._ Some man he is. And you _love_ him?"

Mary didn't seem to have an inkling of how to respond to that. Her mouth hung open, arms crossed to hold her books tightly to her chest. "I — I —"

"I want you to go back to him and just tell him I was lying. I wanted to start trouble, that was all. He's met me — he won't doubt it."

"I... yes. He suspected that might be the case," Mary said, looking away.

"Good," Eli said. "Then there's a chance you might fix your _enormous_ fuckup."

Mary hung her head in shame. "I am so sorry. I'll... I'll pray for your forgiveness."

This girl really was _completely unbelievable._ Eli curled his lip. "Don't pray, _do._ "

Eli left Mary standing miserably in the stacks and checked out his book.

 

***

 

Eli wasn't about to give up on figuring out the truth behind St. Francis, but he _did_ decide to give it a rest.

He'd nearly flown too close to the sun when he told Mary about his and Ocelot's relationship, and he worried that if he went any further everything really could come crashing down around him. He had every intention of digging further, but the timing made the situation delicate. He needed to exercise some patience and keep his head down until a better opportunity came along. 

The remainder of Lent term passed fairly uneventfully. Eli kept his distance from Dr. Thomas and Mary, and even stopped goading Ocelot for sex. Surprisingly, this relaxing of his aggression seemed to win him the only bit of ground he'd managed yet: he got Ocelot to at least take his _shirt_ off.

It was frankly absurd how such a little thing could have such an enormous effect on him, but Ocelot did have a startlingly impressive physique — Eli hadn't expected him to be so... _shredded?_ He certainly didn't get that impression from just looking at him.

But Ocelot wouldn't even let Eli touch his tits, so it was just more blueball dogshit. It was frankly maddening, but backing off had gotten him more than the _nothing_ he'd been getting before, so he did his best to keep it up.

This, eventually, had the effect of making Ocelot _suspicious._

"What are you playing at?" Ocelot asked one day, after Eli finished up in his mouth and went to immediately leave without any further solicitation.

Eli was confused by the question. "What?"

"You haven't..." Ocelot paused, as if himself beginning to realize how ridiculous he sounded. "You've stopped trying to push me. You've stopped snooping around the school. Do you think you're more likely to get something out of me that way?"

Eli groaned with such theatrical exasperation that Ocelot looked a little startled. "Jesus, I can't even behave nicely without you riding my arse?" 

Ocelot grimaced at the turn of phrase. "I've never known you to just behave nicely, when you have nothing to gain from it."

"Ugh. Whatever. Fuck this. I'm going back to my room," Eli announced, and did exactly that.

Unfortunately, after that, Ocelot made no further concessions.

 

***

 

**25 March, 1988. Northern England.**

Lent term was over practically before Eli even knew it. He wasn't expelled, didn't kill anyone, and wasn't attacked by any malicious heads of government. It was kind of astonishing, all things considered. 

With the campus closing down for break, Eli would have to leave the school for another three weeks. And while he was looking forward to seeing his mother again, assuming that she was going to return, it also meant that he would have to go nearly a month without anyone touching his genitals.

Eli wasn't sure he could even _survive_ it. His mother left him with so little privacy in the cabin that he wasn't even sure if he'd have an opportunity to so much as jack off. He was honestly a little worried about it. Eli brought it up to Ocelot on the car ride over, and his response was predictable.

"It's been years since the last time I had sex with anyone," Ocelot said. "You'll survive."

Eli rolled his eyes. "Ugh. You don't _get_ it. I'm not a decrepit old man with an insensate stick of beef jerky dangling between my legs like you — I'm fifteen, and I have _needs._ "

Ocelot looked at Eli with such an annoyed expression for so long that Eli worried he might crash the car.

"Don't tell your mother about... any of that," Ocelot said, returning his eyes to the road.

"Ugh. Do you think I'm _stupid?_ "

"More spiteful than stupid, but a little bit," Ocelot said. "But don't tell her about anything you've found out about the situation at St. Francis, either."

"What? Does she not _know?_ "

Ocelot didn't answer.

"Wow," Eli remarked. "You have me here while you're conducting some sort of covert operation and you didn't even _tell_ her?"

"There are things she's better off not knowing. She would interfere."

"I bet. She certainly wouldn't have left you here alone with me if she'd known I was in this kind of danger."

"You wouldn't be in _any_ kind of danger if you knew how to keep your fucking nose out of places it doesn't belong."

An uncomfortable mood descended on the car, and neither Ocelot nor Eli spoke for the rest of the ride.

The telltale sight of EVA's motorcycle greeted them when they pulled up to park alongside the forest cabin. Eli was able to play it a little cooler this time — he carried his own bag and walked to the door to let himself in. 

EVA was indeed waiting for him on the other side. She rushed up to greet him, and immediately fuss over his hair — "Have you not gotten in trouble for how long it is?" — before helping him bring his things into the bedroom. At the very least, this time, Eli had laundered his clothes _before_ getting there.

Ocelot joined them inside the cabin before long. EVA was elated to see him, gushing about how long it'd been. Eli was somewhat surprised when he hated seeing them hug even _more_ than usual. 

"I might stick around for longer this time," Ocelot said.

EVA seemed to have thought he'd had different plans. "Weren't you going to visit John while I'm here?"

Eli couldn't help but notice when Ocelot looked past EVA to glance at Eli, though he was quick to look away. 

"Yeah, I'll go see him," Ocelot said. "But it doesn't have to be right now, does it? I thought maybe we could go somewhere for a while. Get out of the backwoods."

EVA brightened at the suggestion. "You think so?"

Ocelot nodded. "Yeah. Maybe we could go down to Manchester for a while?"

"That sounds nice," EVA said. "What do you think, Eli?"

Eli shrugged. It didn't make a difference to him; he wasn't going to get his dick sucked either way. "Whatever you want to do, mum."

"It's your vacation, sweetie."

Eli let himself fall backwards onto the shitty uncomfortable cabin bed, across which half his clothes were strewn. "Mum, I don't _caaaaaaare._ "

"You should care! It's —"

Ocelot elected to decide for them. "We'll go, then."

Eli sighed, and started to pack his things _back_ into his bag.

 

***

 

The three of them drove out to Manchester and made a day of it. They put up for a hotel room in the center of the city and spent some time just wandering around; they had lunch at a nice restaurant, and EVA was able to convince Eli to go in and get a proper haircut, which she could tell he appreciated much more than he wanted to let on. She also took him into a mall to buy him some more clothes, since practically all of his pants had gotten far too short in the leg. Adam absolutely refused to be party to _clothes shopping_ — he insisted he'd rather just sit in the food court by himself and wait for them to finish. 

After they finished up with that, Eli surprised her by asking if they could stop in at a record store he spotted. EVA certainly didn't have a problem with it; she followed him along as he made a very deliberate circuit through the small store. He clearly had something in mind.

It took him a while to locate what he was looking for, but when he did, he presented it to EVA to ask permission to buy it. EVA took the cassette and inspected it carefully. It was evidently... a 1987 Madonna remix album?

"I didn't know you liked Madonna," EVA remarked. It certainly didn't seem to be to Eli's _taste._ She didn't know her son to have _any_ interest in pop culture. 

The boy looked inexplicably embarrassed about it. "I _don't,_ " he forcefully protested. "It's, um — for a... friend." He then hastily added, "Do _not_ tell Ocelot I got this."

EVA smiled knowingly. "Did you meet a _girl?_ "

Eli looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "It's not like that," he insisted. "I don't even _like_ her, not _really._ She's _annoying._ "

"So annoying you're buying her gifts, huh."

"It's not a _gift._ "

"What, are you planning to _barter_ with her?"

"You could say that."

EVA crossed her arms over her chest, frowning disapprovingly. "Eli, a woman's _body_ isn't an object to be —"

Eli's face contorted in comical mortification. "Oh my god, I don't want to _fuck_ her," he protested. "She's _devoutly_ Catholic. We met in _church._ She'd be a terrible lay."

EVA furrowed her brow. "Who taught you to talk like that?"

"Uh, I guess you did, by abandoning me for 15 years," Eli said, fixing her with a blank look.

Ouch. 

EVA took Eli up to the register and paid for his purchase. He made _her_ do it, so the cashier wouldn't think that he was "queer" for buying a Madonna cassette. Boys really were unfathomably insecure about things that didn't matter even a little at all.

As they were leaving the shop to regroup with Adam, EVA asked, "So, what's your friend's name?"

Eli looked at her suspiciously. "... Mary. Why?"

"Huh," EVA said. She couldn't help but wonder... but it wasn't as if Mary were an uncommon name. She brushed it off. "Would you tell me about her?"

Eli immediately assumed a defensive posture. "Oh, would you come off it?" he groaned.

"What? What'd I say?"

"I don't know why you want me to tell you about her. She's not my _girlfriend._ "

"She doesn't have to be your girlfriend for me to want to hear about her," EVA said. "I'd like to hear about any of your friends."

Eli started to hurry up his pace. He clearly wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "She's not that interesting. She's really religious and talks about god all of the time. It's really annoying. Whenever she's not doing that she's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. She thinks she knows better than you because of her stupid religious moral high ground, the fucking bitch. And she's obviously one of those people who is _so fucking smug_ about having read a _book_ once — she doesn't talk like any _normal_ person I've ever met. Like she's never spoken to an actual human being in her life. She sounds like an old nun reading Chaucer out loud. I heard her say ' _shalln't_ ' once."

EVA couldn't help but tease him. "It sounds like you really like her."

"Ugh! I do _not!_ "

Thankfully for Eli, they reached the food court and found Adam patiently waiting for them there. Eli looked positively elated to see him. "Hey, Ocelot!" he called out, as if risking just another ten seconds spent answering EVA's questions was too much to bear.

Adam rejoined the group, and EVA decided it was about time for them to head back to the hotel for the night. Eli complained that he wasn't tired at _all,_ but EVA had to enforce a reasonable bedtime. 

As EVA reflected on their trip, what struck EVA most was how well Eli and Adam got _along._

The last the three of them had all been together, Eli had clearly regarded Adam as a bother at _best._ He radiated disdain for the man, and seized any opportunity that presented itself to castigate him without restraint. And while he certainly had no compunctions about tearing into Adam now, the tone of it all had decidedly shifted; no longer did Eli's entire body coil into itself in disgust every time Adam so much as opened his mouth. No longer did Eli retch performatively every time Adam turned his back. Eli smiled and even laughed with him; EVA thought Eli might even have come to... _enjoy_ Adam's company.

EVA might have found it an encouraging positive sign for their relationship, had it not been for the way Adam _looked_ at Eli when he thought Eli wasn't looking back.

She knew that look — that was the look Adam had been giving Big Boss for 24 years. There was a sort of bewildered fondness, laced by an undercurrent of pained longing; EVA hadn't seen Adam wear it so acutely since the early 70s, when he still believed he had a _chance._

She wasn't exactly surprised to see it. She almost _expected_ it — the thought had been in her mind even from the beginning of the project. While he'd not been the one to _conceive_ Les Enfants Terribles, Adam became its most fervent champion; he was the one who finally convinced EVA it was worth getting involved in such a ludicrous boondoggle in the first place. What did he really have to gain from the project, if not the possibility that... 

EVA couldn't sleep.

It was probably a ridiculous thought, she knew, but it was difficult to shake all the same. She lay awake long after Eli had fallen asleep, into the early hours of the morning, before she concluded that she simply was not going to get any rest until she spoke to Adam.

So she quietly let herself out of bed, and made her way out into the living room of their absurdly excessive apartment-style suite. She had intended to wake him, but she found Adam already up — he was sat by the window with a small radio.

The radio was turned on, but did not play music. Adam was listening intently to a quiet rhythmic series of clicks and beeps that were wholly unintelligible to EVA, transcribing them as numbers onto a pad of paper. EVA, of course, recognized he was receiving a coded missive, but she wasn't familiar with the cipher. She knew better to interrupt or distract him, so she simply stood by quietly and waited for him to finish.

When Adam turned off the radio, EVA took the chance to speak up. "Adam... I need to ask you a difficult question, and I hope you won't be mad at me when I say it," EVA awkwardly began, arms encircled around her own body.

Adam looked up from inspecting his transcribed code, curious. "What is it?"

"Well... you know, Eli is getting older. He looks more and more like John every day," she said. "And... well, It's something I've wondered since the start of the project, honestly. About your motivations for —"

Adam was looking back at her with an inscrutable expression, but surely he was picking up on what she was implying when he interrupted her. "Why don't you just come out and say what you're thinking, EVA? If you're afraid you'll offend me, don't worry about it."

EVA sighed and raised her hand to rub at her temples. "It feels mean to even think it. I don't want to be cruel to you."

"Just say it," Adam insisted.

"Are you... are you hoping that you'll have a second shot with Eli? When he grows up?" EVA asked.

Adam stopped, set his pad of paper down by the window, and looked up at EVA with a piercing gaze. He took an uncomfortable pause before he echoed, in a quiet but _decidedly_ offended tone, " _A second shot?_ "

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Eli is not John," Adam said, his voice sharp. "He will never compare to John. He will never replace John."

EVA frowned, and let her arms drop down to her sides. "I'm worried you won't be able to help yourself, when it comes down to it. And you _know_ how impressionable Eli is. It wouldn't be difficult for you to —"

Well, Adam was _definitely_ pissed off. So much for not offending him. "I'm not so pathetic that I would settle for some second-rate copy," he said; his intonation was even, but EVA knew Adam well enough to see that he was radiating a carefully restrained anger.

The thing was... EVA was absolutely convinced that Adam was _exactly_ that pathetic. She had seen the degree to which Adam would climb or stoop to get Snake to so much as _acknowledge_ him — did he really expect her to believe that he would be able to turn away from that possibility so easily? 

Adam's ensuing silence was decidedly sour. EVA looked upon him with a melancholic pity. "It isn't as if I _blame_ you, Adam. I know how you feel about John. I get it, I really do."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not —"

"You _are,_ " Adam insisted. "I'm not as weakened by him as you seem to think I am. I'm capable of self-control."

EVA laughed softly. "Adam... I've known you for more than half of your lifetime. Your feelings for John are the one thing you've never been able to control."

Somehow, Adam looked honestly surprised to hear her say that. "... I think I've controlled myself above and beyond any reasonable standard."

"You've certainly _tried._ All of your projects with _Dr. Clark_ — _Les Enfantes Terribles,_ Indulging her in her ridiculous forays into developing _hypnosis_ and _hypnopedia_ and —"

"You've always called the rest of us by our names, but not her," Adam said, conspicuously dodging the accusation.

"I haven't exactly made it a secret that she makes me... uncomfortable," EVA said, grimacing. "She..." Even after so long it was difficult to articulate. "It's hard to watch something like that happen to someone you considered a... friend. That's all."

"She makes more sense than you might think, if you still know how to listen to her."

"Well, I don't, so there's that. It's easier for me to think of _Dr. Clark_ as someone else entirely," EVA said, and then sighed. She'd let Adam drag her off topic. "But she's not the _point._ "

"Well, then — what _is?_ " Before she could answer, he started out with his own suggestions. "That I'm a shambling wreck of a man who never recovered from being rejected 17 years ago? That I participated in _Les Enfants Terribles_ so that I would be able to force myself on his children instead?" Adam smiled. "Can you say it to my face?"

Honestly, sometimes Adam could be a _bitch._ He couldn't help but be _petty,_ twist words and play the victim — Adam could justify anything to himself. EVA had frankly had enough of it today. "I don't want to _do_ this, Adam. I just want to be sure my son is safe with you."

"I don't want to do this either. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about this at all."

Adam's forceful response only strengthened EVA's conviction that she'd struck at a terrible nerve. She didn't especially _want_ to push the subject any more than he did, but it was difficult not to _worry._ However much empathy for his situation she had, she didn't want to see her son hurt because of it. "I only ask because I see how you look at him and it makes me nervous. I know you can't help it. I know it's not about Eli," EVA said, as gently as she could manage. "But please promise me you won't forget that he's not just a clone of Big Boss. He's my son."

"You think so little of me," Adam quietly replied. 

EVA sighed and shook her head. There was no sense arguing with him when he was like this. "I'm going back to bed," she said.

Adam had left when she woke in the morning.


	21. Over and Over

**18 April, 1988. Northern England.**

Ocelot didn't return until the end of the spring break. EVA drove Eli from Manchester back to the cabin in the woods, and from there, Ocelot drove him back to St. Francis.

The car ride with Ocelot began awkwardly. Eli couldn't help but detect a discomfort in Ocelot's mood — Ocelot clearly had something he wanted to broach, but hesitated to do it. So Eli groaned and spoke up, "What the hell is it?"

Ocelot seemed surprised to be addressed. "What?"

"You're acting moody. I can tell," Eli said. "There's something you want to say, so you should just say it."

"I haven't been acting moody," Ocelot protested.

"Have too. Come out with it already."

Ocelot kept his eyes carefully trained on the road in front of him. "We'll talk about it later, when you're back at school."

"Did something happen when we were in Manchester?" Eli asked. "You just fucking disappeared the first day, after making a huge deal out of sticking around for a while. Not even Mum knew where you went."

Ocelot sighed, his grip tightening on the wheel. He wouldn't look at Eli. It was fucking annoying. "Eli, we have to stop doing this."

"This? What are you talking about?"

"We can't keep... messing around," Ocelot begrudgingly clarified.

Oh, god dammit, not _this_ shit again. Eli rolled his eyes into the back of his skull in exasperation. "We just _did_ this. Come _on_."

"I mean it this time."

"No you don't," Eli laughed. "It's just going to be the same as the last time. You'll try to cut me off, but then I'll bend over a little bit in front of you and it'll be three seconds before you've got your tongue back up my —"

"Eli, enough," Ocelot snapped, sounding uncharacteristically touchy.

"Don't even kid yourself, old man. It's just sad and a drag for both of us. Just let yourself have what you want, for god's sake."

Eli could see that Ocelot's jaw was clenched. "The circumstances have changed," he said.

"How?"

"EVA suspects something has been going on with us — with me, at least," Ocelot said. "That night in Manchester, she gave me a whole lecture about keeping away from you. 16 years together and she doesn't trust me at all."

"... Well, you _have_ been tongue fucking me three times a week for a while now. So."

Ocelot had nothing to say in return to that. Eli sighed and shifted in his seat. "I have no idea how she even picked up on the fact there's anything going on. All I did was insult you the whole day."

Ocelot laughed. "She has no idea _you_ are interested in _me._ "

"I'm _not_ interested in you," Eli quickly protested.

Ocelot gave Eli a very skeptical glance. Eli looked away.

There was a moment of silence as Ocelot looked back to the road and turned around a particularly sharp bend. "Your mother is a very perceptive woman, and she knows me very well. I honestly... I shouldn't have even been there."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have. Idiot," Eli said, laughing when Ocelot's hackles raised. "But it just goes to show how badly this is going to work out for you. You're so hot for me you can't even hide it, and you expect me to believe you're gonna stop?"

"This isn't a debate, Eli. It's over."

Eli kicked his feet under the dashboard. "Uggghhh, why do you even care what she thinks? I'm going to be legal in less than _four months._ It doesn't even matter."

"It's not about your age, Eli."

"My mother doesn't get to decide who I'm allowed to fuck. She doesn't _own_ me. She doesn't own _you,_ either."

"She doesn't own me," Ocelot confirmed. "But that doesn't make her inconsequential."

"Why?"

"Because —" Faced with actually explaining the concept of why he gave a shit about EVA to a psychopathic child, Ocelot apparently found the task surprisingly daunting. "Because I do. I don't have to justify myself to you."

"Whatever," Eli said, rolling his eyes again. "Well, whenever you're done with your little morality fantasy or whatever game you think you're playing, my cock will be waiting."

Ocelot fell back into a moody silence for the rest of the ride back to St. Francis.

 

***

 

**26 April, 1988. Wolf Hall.**

Eli didn't make it two weeks without a blowjob before he started to fucking crack.

Well, it was more like _five_ weeks, if you counted the fact that he hadn't gotten any over vacation, either. But that seemed less tortuous with the knowledge that his dry spell was eventually going to end — the longer Ocelot held out, the less certain Eli was that he would relent.

Apparently, his distress did not escape notice. "Are you all right?" Samuel asked.

The school had decided to let Eli study in his room again on a probationary basis, and he was honestly doing his best to get his work done, but it was difficult to focus — especially when the material was so fucking dull. He'd been staring at the same maths problem for at least ten minutes, and the erratic tapping of his pencil against his notebook must've drawn Samuel's attention. "Fine," Eli said.

"You've seemed... on edge, lately," Samuel observed.

Eli released a loud snort. "Have I," he dryly replied.

"Yes. More so than usual."

If anything was _more than usual,_ it was how much Samuel had been pestering him lately. The kid usually kept mostly to himself, but he seemed to have a newfound, persistent concern for Eli's wellbeing that verged on irritating. Eli decided to just ignore him and go back to his futile attempts to work.

Samuel, though, was undeterred. The boy crawled up onto Eli's bed behind him, and came to lie on his stomach beside him, propped up on his elbows in a mirror of Eli's posture. Eli gave him just a brief annoyed glance.

Samuel just lay there for a minute, carefully watching Eli's face. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet. "Is there... anything I can help you with?"

Well, if this kid was so fucking eager to do his work for him, may as well. "Fine," Eli said, and roughly pushed the textbook over so Samuel could see. "I'm stuck on practice exercise 4."

Samuel seemed oddly surprised to have Eli take him up on his offer, but he collected himself to take a look at the problem. "It's easy," he immediately concluded. "This is just a basic polynomial."

Oh, of course, Samuel with his _perfect fucking marks_ would think that it was easy. Eli huffed and looked away. "I'm not fucking _stupid,_ I just —"

"I just don't think our maths teacher explains functions, or, well, anything very well," Samuel said, grabbing Eli's pencil out of his hand. "Here, look, I'll show you. It's easiest to understand if you actually graph the function. You only have to input a few numbers to see the parabola."

Eli watched intently as Samuel drew out a graph on his notebook. He had a positively unnatural ability to draw straight lines, and spaced all of the labels on the axes meticulously. "You don't have to be this neat about it," he mumbled, as if self-conscious about his impeccable draftsmanship. "Well, the domain... that's just all real numbers. You can put anything into x here. Okay, if you take the function —" He rewrote it above the graph: f(x) = 6x^2 + 12x - 1. "You input any coordinate to x and solve to find y. So, since the question is asking for the range... well, if you put in -2..." He drew out another table on the side with two columns, one for x and one for y, and put down a -2.

Then Samuel started actually working out the problem. Eli sighed as Samuel walked him through it. "It's just a basic algebraic equation. -2 squared is 4, and 6 times 4 is 24, so you've simplified the equation down to 24 + 12(-2) - 1. 12 times -2 is -24, so then you get... 24 - 24 - 1. Which is -1." He wrote that down in the y column of his table, and then marked the point on the graph neatly at (-2,-1). "And then you can just keep inputting numbers that way... If you take -1..." He redid the calculation again, this time much faster than when he'd slowed down for Eli. "That's -7, so (-1,-7). And if you put in 0, you get... -1, right? (0,-1). 1, you get 17. There, see, you only had to graph a few numbers to see how it's a parabolic function. The two ends go on infinitely up the positive y axis. So if you find the lowest point of the function —" He pointed to the bottom of the curved line. "— that's the range. The answer is any number greater than -7. You can just write that as ≥-7."

Eli sighed again, shifting to support his head with his other hand. He felt like his brain was melting out of his skull — it wasn't that Samuel didn't make sense. He thought he probably understood it well enough to get it now — he just didn't fucking care. He didn't want to _have_ to learn this. 

But, he didn't have a choice, so he just kept on going. "Okay," he said. "What about this one, then?" he asked, pointing to the next problem in the textbook. _Find the domain for y = (x^2 + x - 2) / (x^2 - x - 2)._

"Oh... this one is a little more complicated but it's simple too if you know the equation..."

"Of _course_ it is."

"Okay... well... I'll show you," Samuel said, and then wrote out the equation in the notebook. "This one involves division, so... the domain is all the numbers that you're allowed to put into x, right? The only problem with this is that you can't divide by zero, so, the only values you can't use here are... the values that would cause the equation to divide by zero. So if you set the denominator to be equal to zero and solve..."

Samuel wrote out the denominator of the equation on its own as x^2 - x - 2 = 0. "This is a quadratic equation, so you can solve for it by factoring the left hand side," he explained. "It's a bit simpler to see if you write the -x as -1x... when you're factoring out the equation, you want to find two numbers whose sum is equal to -1 — let's write that as a + b — and whose product is going to be equal to -2 — a * b. So with two equations to solve — a + b = -1 and a * b = -2, you just have to think about what numbers will fit here. Since the multiplication equation results in a negative number, one has to be positive and one has to be negative. In this case, -2 + 1 equals -1, and -2 * 1 equals -2. So, a = -2 and b = 1 works."

Samuel wrote out the equation again and went through it step by step to ensure Eli could see the factoring did indeed work out.

"... Was... was I just asleep in class when he explained this?" 

"... I think you were, actually."

"Oh," Eli said.

" _Anyway._ That's how you solve for the domain — by doing that quadratic equation you found all the inputs that _do_ equal zero, and will result in dividing by zero if input to x. So the domain is all numbers that do not equal -2 or 1."

"Okay..."

"Do... do you need me to explain it again?"

"No," Eli groaned, letting his face fall onto his bed and be smothered.

When Eli shifted to look up, Samuel was smiling faintly down at him. He rolled over onto his back with another dramatic groan and stared up at the ceiling as he kicked his legs off the side of his bed. As if interested in what Eli was looking at, Samuel copied him to lie the same.

"So..." Samuel began. Eli turned his head to find Samuel looking back at him. "Are maths all that's bothering you?"

"The fuck has got into you?" Eli snapped and sat up. "You're always _prying_ now."

Samuel seemed uncharacteristically affected by the outburst, but only momentarily. "I — I just — you're my —" He floundered for words. "I think of you as... a friend."

"You usually have the sense to fuck off when I tell you to," Eli said. 

Samuel seemed to have no satisfactory answer to that. So, Eli clicked his tongue; Samuel watched with curiosity as Eli rolled over towards his pillows and began to root around beneath them.

He became significantly less interested when Eli's hand came back out with a knife.

Samuel made an instinctual lurch for the door, but Eli was too quick — Eli fisted his free hand in the back of Samuel's shirt and pulled him back down onto the bed.

Eli growled and gnashed his teeth — but for how intensely he fought, Samuel went about his struggle in complete silence. It was actually a bit of an ordeal for Eli to properly subdue the boy, but of course he came out on top on the end. Eli sat straddled across his thighs with the knife pressed threateningly to the hollow of Samuel's neck.

Samuel froze like a statue, once he'd finally accepted his defeat. Both of Samuel's hands were gingerly wrapped around Eli's arm, but they did not grip or pull — Eli was stronger, and both of them knew it. There was no point in fighting it any longer.

Eli swallowed all the saliva in his mouth, his eyes glued to the gentle pulse of Samuel's neck. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd killed. He felt so _thirsty._ He wanted to just — to just _cut_ it and —

"Snake," Samuel said, close to a whisper. "I — why are—"

Eli snapped back into focus as he remembered his purpose; he fixed his face with a rotten sneer. "Did my stepfather ask you to spy on me?" he demanded in a harsh bark.

"Spy on you?" Samuel repeated. His lips and fingers were trembling and his eyes were so wide that Eli could clearly see the whites around his irises. It took the boy a while to muster the nerve to answer. "... He asked me about you... yes."

Eli clicked his tongue. He fucking figured. 

"Of _course_ he did," Eli spat. That much was predictable. He pressed the blade down with a little more pressure into Samuel's skin; just a spot of blood beaded around the tip. "I didn't expect that _you_ would fucking sell me out, though."

Samuel's demeanor shifted in response to the pain, but not in the way Eli had expected. He released a sigh, and let his hands fall away from Eli's arm to lay limp and motionless beside his head.

Complete surrender. Eli felt something in his stomach pulse, and he eased up on the knife.

"I... he seemed... concerned, about you," Samuel mumbled. His eyes were plainly shimmering with tears.

"Concerned?" Eli repeated in an incredulous tone.

"All he wanted to know was if you were doing all right. I didn't see the harm in telling him that much. He told me to help you, if I could. I didn't see the harm in doing it. I didn't mean to... to..." Samuel seemed to lose his train of thought. A drop escaped from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. Please... please don't —"

Eli's first instinct was to kill Samuel. Samuel had betrayed him, after all — it was what he deserved. But however much his gut wanted him to drive the blade home, he knew on some rational level that this was... good. 

Eli could use this. As long as Ocelot thought he had a mole, Eli could make Samuel tell Ocelot just about anything he wanted. "Whatever. I don't care," Eli said. "Actually, I'm glad that you're talking to him. I want you to keep doing it. Tell him anything he wants to hear. Make him trust you."

Samuel said, in a quiet voice, "I'm not a very good liar."

Eli sighed and rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Honestly, Eli wasn't even that mad. It wasn't like Samuel had really done anything yet. The kid was so timid and impotent, Eli doubted him capable of anything _really_ duplicitous; Ocelot had obviously intimidated him into it, and he'd done a terrible job of hiding it. Samuel was just a stupid kid in over his head. He may have been a traitor, but he was still of some use — it would be a waste to get rid of him over this.

"... Okay," Samuel agreed, albeit reluctantly. He could obviously tell he was being embroiled in some sort of scheme. "I'll... I'll tell you if he asks me to do anything else."

"Good," Eli said. He pulled back the knife, and rolled off of Samuel's body. "Now get off my bed."

As ever, Samuel dutifully did as he was told.

 

***

 

Eli resolved to _seduce_ Mary.

Sure, it was almost guaranteed that Ocelot would break eventually, just like he had the first time — but he might need just a little bit of a push to get there. So Eli returned to what he knew would work: prying into Mary's life. But just a bit of digging wouldn't be enough, he knew. He was going to have to ratchet up the stakes.

There was no doubt that it would work. He probably wouldn't even have to go _all the way_ — just far enough to make Ocelot jealous. While Ocelot hadn't done anything to come between Eli and Harding, surely Ocelot was more invested now.

He didn't imagine that it could be particularly hard. If some nasty old man could manage it, so could Eli — and Verschuer was crooked as fuck, so it wasn't even like Eli's nature would be an obstacle this time around. Opening up to her might even make her like him _more._ Girls were pathetic and easy like that, he knew.

The first time he spotted her after returning from spring break, she was cutting a hasty path across the campus — he caught her trail immediately from the whispers she left in her wake. He had to practically run her down, she was moving so fast. "Hey, Mary!" he called out.

Mary whipped around like a storm. "What do _you_ want?!"

Wow, someone was in a bad mood. "What's the matter? Did you get in a fight with daddy?" Eli spitefully sniggered.

Mary was so fucking pissed off it was a marvel that her head wasn't literally exploding off of her body. She had her hands balled into fists at her sides, trembling with impotent fury. "G— go — go to _HELL,_ Eli!" she exclaimed.

"Wow, language," Eli said, clicking his tongue. "Will Jesus still love you if you're saying shit like that?"

Mary seemed to be momentarily frozen in horror, all of the color rapidly draining from a face that had been just seconds before as red as a beet. When she failed to choke out a retort, Mary concluded that the best solution was just to turn tail and run.

Eli, of course, followed relentlessly after her. He jogged along behind her until the chase lead them to the back of the science building, by the small hedged maze of a garden they'd spoken in so many months ago. Mary hadn't seemed to really have any idea of where she was running to — she gave up when he tracked her down to the gate of the garden.

"W-why won't you just, just leave me _alone?_ " she sobbed, turning back to him with a face streaked with tears.

Well, this was already off to a good start. He'd made her cry within under 30 seconds of interacting with her. They'd be making out in the pews in no time.

Eli figured it was probably a good idea to retract the claws while he still could. "Hey," he said, as gently as he could manage.

Mary's knees seemed to give out underneath her and she fell to the ground, covering her face in her hands. Eli sighed and lowered himself down to sit cross-legged across from her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I-it's nothing," Mary insisted, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "I just... I _just..._ "

"Did you actually get in a fight with Jo — with Kugler?"

Mary opened her mouth to answer but it was choked out of her lungs by a sob. She covered her mouth and nodded instead.

"Oh... well," Eli began, but discovered he didn't really know what exactly to say. It wasn't like he had any useful advice for dealing with disputes with a lover pretending to be your dad. "That bloke seems like a fucking jerk, honestly."

Mary's brow knit over her eyes and Eli wasn't sure whether she was offended or amused or upset or all three. Her protests came out half-hearted. "J-Joachim isn't... he's..."

"A controlling bastard, who thinks he owns you," Eli said. "I mean, I've seen enough to tell _that_ and I'm not trapped in a tower with him 24/7 like you are. How do you stand it?"

It seemed like Eli was getting onto the right track. Mary was no longer sobbing hysterically, at least. She kept rubbing at her eyes as she spoke. "I... it's... it can be hard," she admitted. "I know he wants what's best for me, since my mother... She still could..."

"That's no reason to keep you as a prisoner — and this is a boy's school. It's like he picked the place he knew you'd be the _most_ isolated, while getting to hide behind the fact he _technically_ lets you go outside."

Mary didn't seem to know how to argue against that. Eli knew he was saying what she was already thinking, but felt too guilty to honestly admit to herself.

He tried to keep too gleeful a grin off his face — this was going so well. But it wasn't as if the bar was very high. Mary probably would've accepted attention from a moderately leprous gutter rat if it'd had the decency to look her in the eye when it squeaked. 

"Why haven't you run away yet?" Eli asked. It was an honest question — hecertainly would have by now, had he been in her position.

Mary glanced off into the grass. "I... I mean... Joachim isn't _wrong._ It _would_ be dangerous for me to... I'd never last on my own. Someone would pick me off. If not my mother, then..."

"Well, if that's not an option, maybe there's something you could do to make your time here a little less awful."

"Like _what?_ "

"Maybe what you need is... a friend."

Mary looked up to Eli as if he had gone completely mad. "A _friend? You?_ " she laughed, her attempts to sound bitter and sardonic rendered ridiculous by her hiccups — she was starting to cry again. "You're so mean to me. All you do is make fun of me and the things I like... when I'm upset you come and, and you _mock_ me! Why would I _ever_ want to be friends with _you!?_ " 

Eli looked up at the bright spring sky, blue and filled with fluffy white clouds. "Well... we have some things in common, I think."

Mary scowled, sniffling loudly. "It doesn't seem to me like we have anything in common at _all._ "

Well, he figured he may as well try to play the card and see how it went. "I'm one of the clones of Big Boss," he said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world for him to reveal.

Mary's reaction was predictably comical. She brought her hand to her chest as her mouth fell open. "W... what did... I'm sorry. I must not have heard... correctly...?"

"No, really. I mean, from what I've heard about you and Verschuer and Thatcher and all that, you must have at least _heard_ of _Les Enfantes Terribles._ "

Mary fucking crossed herself.

"You were an experiment too, weren't you? I mean... Thatcher is way too old to have had a child your age on her own. And your father, well..."

All this information was clearly coming as a shock. Mary had no idea how to react to it. "My — my father? Who told you about —"

Eli knew better than to tell Mary too much at this point. He had almost grown fond of Dr. Thomas — he didn't want to see the old man killed because of Mary's loose tongue. "That doesn't matter," he insisted. "The point is, I know a thing or two about what it's like to be you. Born an abomination, treated like an tool, doomed to fight forever against the fate encoded in your genes — we aren't _that_ different, really."

"I — I —"

Eli pulled himself back up onto his feet and dusted off the grass. "Well, I've got to get back to class. You know where to find me if you want to talk," he said, turning to leave. "And don't tell him about it this time, you fucking idiot."

 

***

 

Eli confidently sat himself down across from Ocelot in his office right after classes let out for the day. Naturally, this immediately drew Ocelot's suspicion.

"What are you so pleased about?" Ocelot inquired, clearly hesitant to even ask.

Eli wore a slight smile and a coy sideward glance as he spoke, as if he were just sharing a casual thought. "I've been thinking of asking Mary to be my girlfriend."

Eli got exactly the response he was hoping for — Ocelot froze rod stiff, looking like he'd just tasted piss in his drink. It was hard to keep a straight face with how transparent he was.

"Is that so," Ocelot droned out from behind clenched teeth. He made a futile effort to disguise his displeasure, but it was already too late — Eli had seen it, and the old man was done for.

"Yeah," Eli said, leaning easily back into his seat. He put his arms up behind his head and crossed his ankle over his knee in a wide stance, shamelessly stretching himself for Ocelot's visual consumption. "I can tell she likes me. I figure, since _we're_ done, I may as well try something out with someone my own age if I see the chance, right? I guess she's not _so_ bad."

"Stop this, Eli," Ocelot demanded. Eli gleefully noted that his hands were gripped tightly on the armrests of his chair. "If you think you're doing this just to spite me — don't. You're going to get yourself killed."

Eli rolled his eyes at Ocelot's dramatics. "Relax. If nothing has happened to me this far, nothing will."

"Just stop it, Eli. Whatever you're trying to do isn't going to —"

Eli cut Ocelot off. "Wait," he interjected, laughing maliciously. "Are you fucking jealous?"

Ocelot sighed heavily and brought a hand to his forehead. "Jealous? Of what, exactly?"

"Of me," Eli said, grinning smugly. "Are you afraid that I might _like_ a _girl?_ "

Ocelot, normally control freak extraordinaire, had absolutely no ability to keep his visible annoyance off his face. Whatever he was feeling had to be ten times worse than what he was even showing. Seeing it was incredibly satisfying. "Eli, I don't care what you do. I can tell that you're trying to goad me into a response. You can save yourself the trouble, because it's not going to work."

"It looks to me like it's already working just fine."

"I —"

"It's not like you have anything to worry about," Eli said. He figured that if Ocelot was already _this_ jealous before he'd even done anything, then he could play it safe for a bit — maybe he could save the real shit for the next time Ocelot tried to hold out on him. "I'm just interested in a bit of fooling around. It's nothing serious yet. I mean... I guess she's not bad looking. But she's really religious, and her boyfriend is her fake dad, which is a bit weird."

"You were also fucking your fake dad, in case you've forgotten."

Hahahaha, Ocelot was acting all insulted! Eli was fucking loving this. "Yeah, but I guess I'm not anymore, huh?" he said, crossing his arms pointedly over his chest.

Ocelot took a deep breath. "No. You're not."

Eli shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "I'm over it. It's not like you were even _that_ good at blowjobs."

 _Surely_ Ocelot knew better than to rise to that kind of bait. _Surely_ he recognized that all of this was just a ploy to agitate him. All the same, he near muttered, "And you think this girl will do better?"

"She's still young," Eli said, grinning. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks, though."

Eli delighted in Ocelot's anger. Whatever measure of practiced restraint Ocelot employed, the undisguisable potency of his honest emotions broke through his facade and seeped out through the cracks like blood in the water. And Eli was a _shark._

"Whatever. Have fun, I guess," Ocelot said, incapable of disguising his bitterness.

"Yeah," Eli said, rising from his seat to go. "I will."

Ocelot didn't stop him when he left.


	22. Ain't No Big Deal

**30 April, 1988. St. Francis.**

Just after Saturday's half day of classes let out, Mary accosted Eli on his way out of the humanities building. 

Eli was a bit embarrassed by how startled he was when she reached out and grabbed him by the arm before he even saw her, but he was being dragged away before he could protest.

"S-sorry," Mary stammered, leading him quickly and purposefully away from the suspicious students who'd happened to witness the scene. "You don't have a locker for me to leave a note in anymore."

Eli wrenched himself free the moment he regained his bearings and followed her along back to the garden behind the science building. Mary unlatched the wooden gate between the hedges and let them inside, suspiciously casting her gaze around for any lurkers. Eli didn't get the impression that many people came around here.

When it seemed clear enough that they weren't being listened to, Eli said, "So, what's the deal with you?"

Mary turned about to face Eli, rubbing at her arms self-consciously. "I know it's silly. I don't... don't feel comfortable saying it out loud. Not here," she said. "I'm sorry."

If this girl kept pissing him off like this, this was going to be harder than Eli thought. He sneered and said, "You dragged me out here just to tell me you're not going to tell me anything?"

"N-no," Mary said. "I'll tell you. Just not here."

" _Where,_ then?"

"I'd like to go into the town. I spoke to Joachim, and, and he finally gave me permission to go on my own."

"I can't believe you need _permission_ to go _outside._ "

Mary sighed. "He cares about my safety, that's all."

Eli clicked his tongue. "He doesn't even think of you as a person," he said. "He thinks of you as a _dog_. That he'd do what he does with you, looking at you like that — it's fucked up, if you ask me."

"Well, nobody asked you, so why don't consider you keeping your mouth shut!" Mary snapped, raising her chin in attempt to disguise how obviously Eli was getting to her. "Are you going to come with me into town or not!?"

"Ugh. Whatever, fine. I will."

"Good!" Mary said. "The only thing is, we have to be absolutely certain that Joachim doesn't find out that I'm going with _you._ "

Eli's eyes practically rolled up into the back of his skull. "Oh, this is rich. He'll let you go into town, but you're not allowed to _speak_ with anyone while you're there."

"He doesn't care if I speak to people in town! It's just, the last time I tried to make friends with a boy, it — it didn't go well."

"What? What did he do?"

"Nothing," Mary was quick to interject. "Nothing, really. He just... he forbade us from speaking, and Joachim frightened him off. The boy I was getting to know. I don't want him to have it out for you, too."

"That old man doesn't intimidate me," Eli lied.

"Well, _I_ don't want to have to deal with that all over again, okay? It'll be fine. We'll just sit on different places on the bus and meet up after! He doesn't have to know," Mary said, though clearly she was still extraordinarily nervous about it.

Well, obviously trying to convince Mary of how fucked up Joachim was was a pointless endeavor, so Eli gave up and agreed to go along. Predictably, taking the bus into town made Mary into a spectacle.

The bustling commotion of the bus immediately died the moment the boys inside caught sight of Mary's voluminous curtain of pale hair. Even the typically taciturn bus driver seemed to gawk when she passed to walk down the aisle and take a seat as far in the back as she could sit. Eli followed along after her, shooting vicious glares at every staring face he spotted.

Mary sat by the window and Eli took the seat on the opposite side of the aisle. So it wouldn't look like they were _together._ He saw boys trying to crane their necks around the backs of their seats to get a look at her; Mary seemed pointedly focused on thinking about anything other than what a sore thumb she was.

Thankfully, their wonderment was paired with fear enough to keep them from actively bothering her. Mary looked so tense and focused on shutting the attention out that Eli didn't even dare speak to her until they arrived in the center of town.

Mary insisted that they wait to disembark until the rest of the students had entirely filed off the bus, so they were able to slip off and blend into the groups of passing locals. "Have you been into town before?" Mary asked.

"Um, a couple of times," Eli said. Mary was walking forwards and he was following her, but he wasn't sure where she was leading him. "Why?"

"We need to go somewhere to sit and talk," she said, moving with a hasty clipped gait as she scrutinized the storefronts of each building they passed. "Somewhere that's not too crowded, but not _too_ empty — somewhere no one will listen into our conversation..."

"It's not like I know my way around here. I don't know any places to go to."

So, instead, Eli merely followed along after Mary as her indecision lead her in circles. 

After a surely unnecessarily long period of walking, Mary happened upon a small cafe she found sufficiently to her liking and lead Eli inside. Mary ordered a coffee — or, rather, she seemed to order a bit of coffee with her milk. Eli snorted mockingly at her order; Mary did her best not to start a tiff in public.

The two of them found a table by the window in which to sit down. The noise level of the cafe was good — it wasn't likely anyone would eavesdrop. Still, Mary kept her voice lowered. "I... before I tell you anything, I'd like to be sure you're telling the truth."

Eli sat back in his chair, an arm slung casually over the back. "Yeah? You gonna run a genetic test on me, right here?"

Mary pouted. "Please take this _seriously,_ " she said.

"All right, whatever, fine. What am I supposed to tell you?"

"I think... I think if you're really who you say you are, then you'll be able to answer my question."

"What question?"

Mary took a deep breath. "What was... what was the name of the doctor who headed _Les Enfants Terribles?_ " she asked.

Eli didn't even have to think about his answer. "Her name was Dr. Clark."

Mary exhaled in a gust and brought a hand to her chest. "O-oh... you even knew that she's a woman? Then you must have — I... I believe you. I guess."

Mary still seemed terribly overwhelmed by the knowledge — he couldn't really blame her. It must've raised so many questions. The girl took a small sip of her drink and then set it back down in front of her, sitting with her hands clasped around the cup. She stared into the stillness of the pale liquid as if enraptured. When her eyes flitted back up, it was with a sudden clarity. "It's not a coincidence you're here," she said.

"I don't think it is, either," Eli said.

Mary narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Eli leaned forward in his seat, setting his arm onto the tabletop to support himself. "I still don't know all of the details. I've been kept in the dark about everything that's going on here, but you're right, I wasn't sent to St. Francis by chance. I'm _certain_ it's because of you."

"Your stepfather, Adam..."

Eli wore a severe expression. "You may have guessed he's not really my stepfather."

"Then — was it also a lie when you told me —"

Ugh. She had to go and bring that up. "It wasn't a lie," Eli said. "But that's over now. He cut me off."

"Oh." Mary lingered in an uncomfortable silence before she seemed to think it best to simply change the subject. "Who _is_ he? Is he one of Big Boss's operatives?"

"I —" It was baffling to consider that he honestly still had not even the faintest clue as to what Ocelot's MO even was. "I don't know," Eli answered, furrowing his brow. "I have no idea why he's here, or who he's here working for. He does work with my father — with Big Boss — but why would Big Boss care about you? I don't believe my father sent him at all."

Mary brought a hand to her mouth in contemplation. "Does... does he have an, erm... a _nom de guerre,_ perchance?"

"Yeah. He goes by 'Ocelot'."

The look of recognition on Mary's face was obvious. "You've heard the name?" Eli immediately asked. "Is he working for your mother?"

"I, I've heard the name," Mary said, her eyes wide. "But not in any such context... my mother never spoke of him. In fact, I never even thought of it as a name — it was always... it was just something that came up when Dr. Clark would talk about, about _certain topics_ — but, you know, the way she speaks, I never thought anything of it."

"What? What did she say?"

"Oh, I don't know. I never really listened to her. I assumed it was all nonsense... you must know what I mean, if you knew her."

"I didn't know her, not that well," Eli said. "It's been nearly ten years since I last even saw her. I met with her quarterly for medical assessments, when I was a little kid — we didn't really _talk._ I didn't notice anything like that."

"Oh," Mary said. She seemed a bit disappointed that Eli couldn't commiserate. "I guess you'd have to be around her a lot to see it... well, it's no matter."

"I know Dr. Clark and Ocelot both worked with my father, so they must have known each other," Eli said. "I guess that's a possibility — if we're both one of her projects, he might be — _doing_ something with her."

"But what? What does he want with me?"

"I don't know. He won't tell me anything."

Mary sighed. "This is so concerning... I don't know what to do with this information. Am... am I in _danger?_ "

"You can't tell Joachim," Eli was quick to declare. "If you do, he'll assume I'm with Ocelot and kill the _both_ of us."

"But — If Ad— if _Ocelot_ —"

Eli reached out and placed his hand over Mary's on the table. "I won't let him hurt you. I promise."

Mary reflexively snatched her hand away. _Shit,_ was that a bad move? Did he just try it too soon? He didn't know how the fuck seducing girls worked. He tried not to respond too conspicuously.

Mary, though, mainly seemed contrite about rejecting his attempt to offer comfort. "I — thank you, Eli," she said. "I suppose I won't tell Joachim, for now."

"When I figure out, I'll tell you," Eli said. "We need to stick together through this."

"Thank you," Mary repeated. She looked out the window out onto the street, its sidewalks busy and full of passersby. "Well... I promised that I'd tell you about... me."

Finally, they were getting to the good shit. Eli leaned in intently and asked, "Yeah? What _are_ you?" 

Mary didn't seem nearly so excited to explain. She sighed and looked down at her cup, still nearly full and rapidly turning cold, but didn't take another drink. "I'm... I'm a _perfected chimera._ "

"A _chimera?_ "

"Yes. My genetic makeup... I was _multiple clones,_ fused together into a single body. They achieved perfect distribution of of genes across my body... I am three people in a single form, no more one than any other," Mary said. "They called the project... _Triple Enfant._ "

Eli raised his eyebrows. "Three people? _Triple Enfant?_ But I thought —"

"I am a fused clone of Margaret Thatcher and Winston Churchill, yes. But there was third clone, that no one has told you about," Mary said.

"What? Who is it?"

Mary took a deep breath. "His name was Karol Józef Wojtyła, but today you might know him better as... John Paul II."

"The... the _Pope?_ "

"Yes..." Mary looked back out the window of the little cafe. "He was not yet Pope at the time the project was conceived, but he was quickly gaining influence and status. It just so happened that his genetic profile made him a perfect candidate for the project. He was promised the papacy in exchange for contributing his... genetic material."

"The Pope is in the _Illuminati?_ "

"Um... no. Not exactly. He didn't really... well, I don't want to get bogged down in the politics of it all," Mary said, diverting the subject back on track. "They didn't create a full clone of John Paul II, as previous attempts to fuse _three_ equally distributed zygotes proved to be too unstable. But when they produced two _haploid_ clones and fused them with each other, they were able to create a hyperstable double-half clone... its subsequent fusion with the rest of me tempered the volatile Thatcher-Churchill superclone structure, and I survived implantation into my mother's womb."

"Is that how it works?" Eli asked.

"Certainly... yes, it is," Mary confirmed. "As a result, I —"

"Eh?" Eli interjected. "But if you're two blokes, why haven't you got a cock, then?"

Mary's face turned bright red. "I!"

"... Wait, _have_ you got one?"

"I — I — No!!" Mary squealed, covering her face. "D-don't — don't _say_ — oh my goodness, that's, asking something like — I — I —"

Eli sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "It's not like I _care_ what bits you've got. It was just a question."

"I'm a _girl!!!_ "

"Yeah, OK."

"I _swear_ — I'm not — I'm not _lying_ —"

This was starting to get annoying. "I don't _give_ a shit, god."

Mary fisted her trembling hands in the fabric of her skirt over her knees, staring wide- and watery-eyed down at the top of the table. Her voice was as small as a mouse. "John Paul II's d-double-half clone was created from an X chromosome base, I mean, as a matter of course... a double Y clone, that's simply not possible — s-so, that clone would've been female too. So it was... it would've been two girls and a boy, but I — I'm a _chimera_ , so —"

"Well, sorry if you're so damn torn up about my comment. It doesn't matter," Eli said. He was sick of her hysterics, so he endeavored to change the subject. "How much do you know about _Les Enfants Terribles?_ "

Mary looked up, oddly bashful. "Err... quite a bit, actually," she admitted. She seemed grateful for the switch of topic. "I mean... there wasn't much for me to do growing up but read, and I had access to some case notes..."

It was kind of bizarre to think that this girl probably knew more about him than he did — but then, who _didn't?_ Everything he'd pieced together about his past and origins was by piecemeal hearsay and hard-won scraps that he knit together only through years and years of digging. Even now he wasn't sure how much of what he knew was true. No one had ever sat him down and given him a full, _structured_ truth. 

There were things he was particularly curious about, that he knew his mother or Ocelot would never tell him about. Like... "What do you know about my brother?"

"Your brother?" Mary repeated. "I.. well, it's not as if I know anything about him as a _person._ I couldn't tell you his name, or where he is now..."

"I want to hear anything you know."

Mary bit at her lip in contemplation. "Well. All I know, really, is the manner in which you differed — that is to say, the genetic alterations that were taken to enhance you from your predecessor. I understand that one clone functioned as a sort of _control,_ maintaining a typical expression of Big Boss's DNA encoding, while the other was altered such that particular recessive alleles would assert their phenotypes despite the presence of competing dominant alleles. I'd presume that the latter clone is you — I mean, you _are_ blond."

Eli clenched his fist on the table. "It's just as I thought," he growled. "I was designed from the very _start_ to be inferior."

"Er... not exactly. It's not as simple as —"

"How could it not be? To think that my entire _genetic code_ is defined by the expression of, of _cowardly alleles_ —"

"Eli... that's not..."

"I was cast aside like refuse when they confirmed what they already knew. What use was I next to my _perfect brother?_ "

"The project was canceled largely due to politi—"

Eli clicked his tongue. "I've heard enough."

Mary sighed and brought a hand to her forehead. She seemed to conclude the same. "I should probably head back, soon," she said. "I don't want to push my luck by staying out too long... Joachim is like to send the royal guard after me before long."

"Whatever," Eli said, rising to stand. He was growing restless with his frustration, anyway. "See you later."

 

***

 

Eli didn't feel like going back to the school just yet, so he let Mary return on her own and just spent some time wandering about. He got himself some lunch and went from shop to shop — he didn't have enough money to really buy anything (the school apportioned him a pittance of the allowance EVA had left him each week), but sometimes it was interesting to see what normal people cared about. He couldn't even fathom being so concerned with material possessions. What use would any of this be to him?

It was getting dark by the time Eli finally took the bus back to school. On his way back to his dorm, a number of obnoxiously designed flyers plastered just about everywhere he could see refused to escape his notice. He'd been spotting a number of them around campus for a while now, though he'd never bothered to actually look at one before now. He ripped a flyer off the corkboard posted by the door of Wolf Hall and read it as he ascended the stairs to his room.

Apparently, the annual school dance was coming up. The event was open to signups from students in fourth form and above. Eli was a bit baffled by the concept of St. Francis _having_ a school dance; given that it was a boys' school, they didn't exactly have anyone to dance _with._ What were they supposed to do, sit around and imagine they had girlfriends?

Eli brought the flyer with him back to his room, and immediately shoved it into Samuel's face. "Samuel, what is this?"

Samuel looked up from where he was sat on his bed, past the flyer. "... It is a piece of paper," Samuel answered.

Eli growled and shook the flyer in front of him. "The _writing_ on it, imbecile."

Samuel took the flyer from Eli's outstretched hand to read it in his lap. "Oh," he said. "The school dance."

"Yeah?" said Eli, expectantly.

Samuel looked back to Eli. "I mean... I think that's fairly self-explanatory." He glanced down to the paper and read out loud in a droning voice, "The annual ball. 14th of May. Fourth years and above sign up in reception. Formalwear renting and fitting available on request."

"I can _read,_ " Eli huffed.

"Then... um..."

"How can St. Francis have a _dance?_ This is a _boys' school._ There are _no girls._ "

Samuel looked Eli right in the eye and said in complete deadpan, "We all take turns dancing with the female faculty, such as Mrs. Puddy and Mrs. Peckham."

Eli's face contorted in disgust. "What? Are you serious?"

There was an awkward pause, and a moment where Samuel's expression fell near imperceptibly into a frown. "... No," he said.

"Did you just — did you just make a _joke?_ "

"Um... yes."

Eli gawked at Samuel wordlessly.

Samuel looked back to his hands in his lap. "It — it didn't go very well. I won't try it again."

God, this had gotten uncomfortable. "So what _really_ goes on at this thing?"

Samuel rubbed at one of his eyes with his palm and sighed. "There's a girls' school about three hours from here. They meet up with St. Francis at the venue, which is about halfway between both schools."

That sounded horrible. "So they just bus us all out to a big room full of girls none of us have ever met before and let everyone loose and hope for the best?"

"Yes. That is... basically what happens, I think," Samuel said. "I've been too young to go until now, so..."

"Do you _want_ to go?"

"Do _you_ want to go?" Samuel shot back.

"I asked you first."

Samuel's expression was unreadable. "Um, not particularly. Are you planning to... ?"

Eli shrugged casually. "I don't know. I'm thinking about it. What, are you asking me to go _with_ you?" he said, laughing.

"No, I wasn't," Samuel quickly said. "I don't want to go, not really. I wouldn't have a good time."

"Whatever. Suit yourself," Eli said. He shrugged and turned to flop down into his own bed. "I actually went into town with Mary today," he idly added as he kicked off his shoes.

"I see," Samuel said. "Do you want me to tell your stepfather this?"

"Yeah," Eli said. He pulled himself up again to begin shedding the oppressive layers of his uniform. He could hardly believe he'd managed to keep himself dressed in a shirt going on nine months. "Tell him that I've been talking about her all the time, and that we get along great."

Samuel watched Eli carefully as he stripped down to his shorts. "But... you haven't. Not really."

Eli turned and gawked at Samuel like he were a complete imbecile. "No shit. I'm telling you to _lie,_ " he said.

Samuel glanced away bashfully. "I — I'm not a very good liar."

"Ugh," Eli groaned. "You're fucking useless. Okay, what if I _actually_ talk to you about Mary?"

"... That would make it easier."

Eli sighed, and propped himself up by his elbows. "All right. The two of us went to a cafe and had some coffee together. We had a good time. I enjoyed myself. I think she likes me. I'll ask her to go to the dance with me."

Samuel actually looked a bit surprised. "Really?"

"Really what? That I'm gonna ask her out? Yeah. I think she'll say yes, if her _father_ even lets her go at all."

"Okay," Samuel said. 

"Also," Eli added, starting to grin. "Tell him that I said... at first I thought that I was only doing it to get his attention, but I think I might actually be starting to like her, for _real._ "

Samuel was quiet for a moment. "Is that... true?"

"Will it make it harder for you to say it if I answer that?"

"That depends on what your answer is."

Eli snorted. "Good night, Samuel," he said, and reached out to turn out his bedside light.

 

***

 

**2 May, 1988. St. Francis.**

When Eli next spotted Mary on campus, he knew exactly what to do.

It was a nice spring day, so Mary was enjoying some time out reading in the yard again. Eli joined her under the broad tree and took a seat down next to her. "Hey."

"Hi Eli," Mary said, apparently too enraptured in her reading to actually look up. She didn't even notice what he was holding in his hand.

Eli grew a little bit irritated — what, was she suddenly done being flustered by his attention? He didn't settle for being rebuffed. "Look, I got you something," he said.

Well, that got her attention. Her eyes flitted up and she said in a confused tone, "I'm sorry?"

Eli shoved the cassette case right in her face. She was so surprised that it took her a moment for her to even think to take it.

"I," Mary began, before she actually looked at it. Eli watched with smug pleasure as Mary's eyes lit up. "You have a copy of _You Can Dance?_ I thought you didn't like —"

God, was this girl stupid? "I got it for _you,_ " Eli said.

Mary seemed to have no earthly idea of how to respond to that. Her eyes took a shimmering sheen and she squeaked, "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

The girl hugged the case to her chest. "Eli, I — I don't know what to say. I —"

Eli tilted his head casually. "It's no big deal. I just saw it when I was out one day and thought of you."

"Thank you so much!" Mary exclaimed, holding the cassette to her chest. "Oh my goodness, I'm going to cry!"

Oh, Jesus _Christ._ Eli couldn't deal with crying. That was too god damn much. "Um, don't," he said.

Mary sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "It's just, I mean... I've never really had a _friend_ before, honestly, not for long, so nobody's ever... I... oh, I'm just happy, you know? Thank you."

Eli figured it was probably best to hurry things along, before Mary _actually_ devolved into hysterics. So, he just blurted out, "Have you thought about the school dance?"

Mary seemed just as surprised by that as the gift. "What?"

"The school dance," Eli repeated. "You already knew about it, right?"

"Well, yes. I know about it. Why?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "Well, I was _obviously_ going to ask if you wanted to go."

Somehow, Mary actually seemed legitimately blindsided by the question. "Oh," she said. Her face pinkened. "You want to — to go with _me?_ "

"Well, yeah," Eli said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought we'd already gone over this."

Mary averted her eyes self-consciously. "But... I still don't really understand why you want to spend time with me. Even if we have similar origins, it's not like we... I..."

He didn't want to go too hard too soon, so he played it safe. "I mean, you know what it's like. Being what we are, living the kind of double lives we do. It's hard to make any real friends, people who can see you for who you really are and not turn away."

"Yes, I suppose... that's... that's true."

"And you're just like me. You can understand me. So there's no one here I'd rather spend time with than you."

Oh man, that line _really_ landed. Eli tried to keep a straight face as he saw how embarrassed Mary looked. "I, um. Thank... you?" she stammered. But, of course reality came flooding back, and her face fell. "But, um... oh, it's so nice of you to say that, but I... I can't. I'm already..."

Eli laughed. So she was already thinking about them like that. She was still reluctant, but it wouldn't take him much longer to get her all the way there. "Relax," Eli said, smiling. "It's not a big deal. It'll be fun. if you were a boy at this school you would be going this year."

"Oh goodness... there's no way Joachim would ever let me —"

"Just a few weeks ago you didn't think Joachim would ever let you leave the campus," Eli said. "Come on. It's one night, and he'll know exactly where you are."

Eli could tell he'd already won, despite her waffling. "I... I'm not sure..."

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh, goodness," Mary huffed, rolling her eyes. "Now that you've said that, _bears_ will attack."

Eli grinned with self-satisfaction. "I could take down a bear. I have, before — just with my own wits and a sharp knife. Now that I'm older I could fight several bears, probably."

Mary looked right at Eli and exhaled a deep sigh.

"Come on. Think about it, at least," Eli urged.

"Okay. I'll... I'll think about it. Maybe I'll ask Joachim — oh, I don't know."

"Well, let me know when you decide, right?" Eli said, picking himself up off the grass. "Take too long and I might find _another girl._ "

Mary laughed as Eli left her in the yard.


	23. Open Your Heart

**3 May, 1988. St. Francis.**

"I'm thinking about going to the school dance," Eli remarked, absently inspecting his nails from his seat in Ocelot's office.

Ocelot barely even reacted to the statement. 

"I asked Mary to go with me."

"Okay," Ocelot said, as if trying to disavow the notion that Eli could get him to rise to the bait, but the sharpness of his answer easily gave him away. Eli snorted.

"But if I do decide to go to the dance, I'm going to need to get... a _suit,_ or whatever. I saw that the school is offering to rent them out to us."

Ocelot finished with the sheet of paper he'd been writing on, and set it aside to start on another.

When Ocelot offered no further contribution to the exchange, Eli carried on, "So I'm asking you to give me money. So I can get one."

"Are you, now," Ocelot replied, without looking up from the paperwork before him. 

"Yes," Eli said. "I can't _go_ if I don't have one."

Ocelot finally lifted his gaze.

The question left Ocelot in a predicament, Eli knew. Either Ocelot could refuse, like he clearly wanted to, and prove that he _did_ have a vested interest in keeping Eli to himself — or he could cooperate with the request, and risk that Eli really _would_ be lead astray by the imaginary wiles of this sinister Catholic temptress. There wasn't really a clear way for Ocelot to win. Eli indulged in being a bit smug about it.

After a tense moment of silence in which Ocelot carefully contemplated his options, he finally concluded, "... Fine."

Eli wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or not. While he certainly wanted to win, he knew that the longer the chase, the most satisfying it'd be when he finally got what he wanted.

Ocelot fished out a wad of cash and passed it over to Eli without further argument; he continued to perform his lack of affect with a hasty return to his paperwork. Eli took the money, counted it and then proceeded to sit about quietly until the end of their session. 

To Eli's surprise, Mary caught him on his way out of the administrative building. He didn't stop to talk to her; she had to rush after him to keep up. "Eli!"

"Hi, Mary."

"I wanted to talk to you about, about the _dance,_ " she said. She was already flustered, and Eli's hasty gait made it worse.

"Yeah?"

"I talked to J— my father," Mary said. "He said — he said that I _could_ go!"

Eli was actually sort of surprised. He spared Mary a glance to the side as he walked. "Really?"

"Really! W-well. I didn't tell him that I'd be going with _you._ "

Eli snorted. "Of course you didn't."

"I didn't see why he needed that information," Mary sniffed. "It's not as if we're going on... on a _date,_ or anything. So we won't really be _together._ Just — just at the same venue, at the same time, and I suppose we'll talk while we're there..."

Eli smiled at Mary and she seemed to lose her train of thought. Mary seemed to deliberately fall behind a pace as if to keep herself safely out of his line of sight.

"Also, er, it was on the condition that I'd be chaperoned."

"Ugh," Eli groaned. That was going to make things a fucking pain. "What, is he going to come _with_ you?"

"He really wanted to at first, but I managed to talk him out of _that_ — it'd look strange, even he had to agree — but he absolutely insisted that _someone_ come with me."

"Yeah? Who?"

"He picked Dr. Thomas," Mary sighed. "I wish Valentine were still here."

Eli was surprised. If it was Dr. Thomas coming along, then that'd hardly be an impediment at all. "Oh, him? Huh. Well, he's not so bad."

"You _like_ Dr. Thomas?" Mary asked.

"What, you don't?"

"Oh, no, I don't dislike him at all," Mary said. "He's quite nice, actually, once you get to know him... but, you know, he's got such a surly demeanor — I never imagined _you_ would get along with him."

Eli shrugged. He had found it kind of unexpected, himself. "He's... honest. I can respect that," he concluded.

"Oh, well... that's good, then. It won't be _so_ terrible, I don't think."

Eli's hasty pace finally brought them to the door of Wolf Hall, where Mary could follow no further. She came to a stop at the foot of the steps up to the entrance, and just before Eli reached out to open the door, she called out, "Eli!"

Eli turned back to look at her. "Yeah?"

"I'm — I'm looking forward to it. The dance," she said, her hands clasped in front of her chest. "I think... we'll have a good time."

"Yeah, we will," Eli declared, as full of conviction as ever. Then, he turned and left Mary standing in the yard.

 

***

 

**14 May, 1988. St. Francis.**

The buses left St. Francis right around 2 in the afternoon.

Wearing a suit was fucking _weird._ The fabric felt so much more restrictive than his uniform, and it was weirdly itchy. He kept having to move his shoulders because when he sat still too long the pressure started to drive him insane. 

It certainly didn't make the two hour bus ride very enjoyable. The bus was jammed pack with boys, hooting and hollering and generally making life unlivable — Eli claimed a seat at the very back and did his best to project an aura of unapproachability, and thankfully it seemed to keep the lot of them away from bothering him. He sat there rolling his shoulders with a scowl on his face, until the bus finally pulled up outside the venue.

Evidently, the event was being held in the ballroom of a surprisingly upscale hotel in the middle of a town that made St. Francis's neighboring town look like a pitiful hamlet. It was almost strange to be in the midst of civilization again.

As the boys piled off the buses, Eli noted that it seemed the girls had already arrived. There were groups of them milling around in the car park and near the entrance to the hotel; the few adult patrons passing through seemed particularly beleaguered by the presence of the teenage masses.

Eli followed the crowd into the building, and along the signs pointing them to the ballroom. 

Apparently, Mary was barred from taking the bus in; Dr. Thomas was going to be driving her up. Eli was supposed to meet with her at the dance, but there were so many people and he had no idea where to even look for her. He had no way of knowing whether she had already arrived or not. 

It seemed pointless to even attempt searching through the crowd. Not a small proportion of the girls in attendance had similar complexions to Mary — any time someone caught his eye in a quick sweep it quickly proved to be a stranger. So, Eli gave up, found a shitty plastic chair and sat himself down near the unfortunately lengthy array of entrances by the wall.

Eli sat there alone for some time, glowering. When Mary finally entered the ballroom, it was with Dr. Thomas practically glued to her back.

Mary looked fantastically nervous, her eyes darting around like a threatened animal. But what Eli found most amusing was what she was wearing — her pure white dress fully covered her body from neck to ankle, fringed in lace that looked like it could've been ripped out of her grandma's scrapbook. Not even her arms were unmarred by the dreadful fabric. 

It took a while her to finally spot him, since Eli found he didn't care enough to be motivated to actually get up. She looked tremendously relieved, and headed right for him, rushing with hasty steps. Dr. Thomas made a good show of miserably limping behind her.

"Eli!" Mary exclaimed, beaming down at him where he sat spread out languidly in the plastic chair. "I — I'm here!"

"Yep," Eli said.

"Hey, kid," Dr. Thomas said, when he finally hobbled over. "Mary tells me you're her date."

Mary turned scarlet. Eli grinned. He _did_ like Dr. Thomas.

"No I didn't!!!" Mary practically shrieked. She clamped a hand over her own mouth when she realized how loud she was.

Eli wasn't about to help her out of this one. He just sat by quietly as Dr. Thomas tried to rescue himself from her ire.

Eli supposed that he was going to have to make some sort of effort to interact with Mary now. But, he wasn't sure exactly how. He certainly didn't intend to _dance._ Mary grew more and more anxious as one particularly long minute ticked on. Eventually, he ventured, "Have you been over by the buffet table?"

"Er, no," Mary said. "I just walked in."

"Well, I haven't been either. Let's go see what they've got."

Eli pulled himself to his feet, and adjusted his uncomfortable jacket. He was a little bit more comfortable when he unbuttoned it and untucked his shirt. He decided he hated his tie while he was at it, and loosened it until he looked positively slovenly. Then he was prepared to lead the way to peruse the selection of free food lined up on top of the long buffet table.

Everything looked like shit. Eli slowly stalked down the length of the buffet as the crowd permitted, intensely scrutinizing all of the options. It was all just weird fancy shit he had no interest in eating — cheese squares, salads, _vegetables._

The most palatable thing on display appeared to just be some thin slices of roast beef. So, Eli reached out and grabbed a fistful of as much of it as he could hold and commenced eating it with his hands.

Mary looked on in paralyzed horror as Eli casually gnawed on the dripping mass of meat. A girl standing nearby conspicuously backed away. "E-Eli," Mary stammered. "Maybe — maybe you should get a plate."

"What?" Eli said, looking back to where Mary stood with her hands defensively raised. His mouth was full of beef.

Even Dr. Thomas was looking at him like he was an animal. Where the fuck did _he_ get off? He chewed like he was raised by cattle. "The fuck are the plates? I didn't see any," Eli said.

Mary grabbed a paper plate that was _directly_ beside them and held it out. Eli took it and dropped his masticated lump of roast beef on top of it. Mary cringed when Eli shook a bit of juice from his hand. 

"I need a drink," Dr. Thomas grumbled, and promptly wandered off.

Well, getting rid of Dr. Thomas had been vastly simpler than Eli had expected. Eli snorted. 

Mary hadn't found any food for herself, but she seemed very eager to leave the buffet already. She cast around the room desperate for any lead until she seemed to spot something just over Eli's shoulder. "Oh, is that Moses over there?" Mary asked, gesturing.

A chunk of roast beef fell out of Eli's mouth onto his plate, and he practically felt his heart stop in his chest at the words. He almost didn't _want_ to look, but he couldn't stop himself — he slowly turned to follow Mary's gaze down to the end of the buffet table where Harding was, indeed, stood.

It was the first time Eli had even _seen_ Harding since the end of Michaelmas term. The both of them had so effectively avoided each other that he'd been able to pretend that Harding didn't even exist — but now there he was, in the flesh, and the reality of his persistence was impossible for Eli to deny.

It had been months and so much had happened and still just _looking_ at Harding made something in Eli's chest burn. He tore his eyes away, only to find that Mary was actually walking towards him.

Eli set his plate back down onto the buffet and followed after her with so little hesitation that it surprised him. He didn't want to see Harding — didn't want to speak to him — didn't want to even _think_ about him — and yet still his legs carried him forward. It would've been so easy to run, but he didn't. He needed to stop Mary from even getting close to Harding.

"Mary, stop it — don't — don't go near him," he hissed, but Mary didn't seem to hear him over the chatter of the crowd. Maybe he didn't say it loudly enough. Maybe he didn't even try. 

And then before he knew it he was standing there, next to Mary, merely a meter away from Harding. He felt like he could practically smell Harding. His heart was beating quickly in his chest. "Hi Moses!" Mary cheerily exclaimed.

Harding turned around at the sound with a smile on his face that immediately cracked the moment he laid eyes upon Eli.

Eli wasn't any more enthused to see him, either. Eli had to grit his teeth to keep his mouth shut — there was so much he wanted to just fucking shout, now that he was looking Harding in the face again.

"Hi Mary," Harding said. However uncomfortable he clearly was, he endeavored to avoid a scene — it was just like Harding to play the fucking _better man._ He added, tersely but politely, "Eli."

Mary, naturally, was completely oblivious to the obvious tension between them. "It's been a long time since we talked!"

Eli was surprised Mary and Harding had ever even talked at all. Did Joachim _allow_ that? They couldn't really be friends — but if anyone could manage to maintain a personable acquaintance with Mary against all odds, Eli supposed it _would_ be fucking Harding.

Eli noticed for the first time that Harding had a girl with him; she also seemed to be a bit surprised to see Mary speaking to him. She looked to Harding and clearly mouthed, " _Moses?_ " Harding laughed nervously.

It was horrifying to be revisited by that visceral stab of jealousy. His eyes raked the girl up and down — she had long dark hair and a pretty face, and her black dress accentuated her figure noticeably. Eli's lip curled in disgust. 

"Yeah, it has," Harding said. "Er... I guess, uh — Jezebel, this is Mary. She's the daughter of St. Francis's headmaster. Rugby fan."

"Oh, I see," said Jezebel, evidently satisfied by that explanation.

Eli couldn't fucking believe himself the moment the words came out of his mouth. "Are you his fucking girlfriend?"

All of the color drained out of Harding's face at once. Jezebel looked stunned by the question at first, but released a bark of laughter; rather than react negatively to Eli, she turned on Harding instead. "I don't know, _Moses._ What do you think?"

Harding looked like he was choking on a softball. "I —"

When Harding proved incapable of articulating so much as a sentence, Jezebel slipped her arm around Harding's and looked back to Mary and Eli with a tight smile. "Maybe just for tonight," she said.

Eli was going to have an apoplectic fit. He wanted to reach out and take this girl by the fucking neck and smash her face into the table over and over and over again until it split and her blood washed over his hands — he wanted to squeeze her neck until her windpipe crumbled beneath his grip and press his thumbs into her eyes until they — 

His hands were clenched into fists and trembling and he was going to do something he would regret if he didn't extract himself from the situation, he knew. So he turned and fled, pushing his way through the crowd until he escaped through the door and staggered breathlessly into the hotel lobby.

It didn't take long for Mary to catch up with him. She looked spectacularly concerned, as if she were worried it was something _she_ had done. "What — what _happened_ back there?" she asked.

"Harding," Eli growled. He headed off for the entrance of the hotel, and Mary quickly followed along after him.

"I thought you and Harding were _friends._ "

Eli paused just for a moment to look back to her. "... We were, once," he said, bitter.

Mary had to hurry to keep pace. Eli stepped out into the open air and marched with a semblance of purpose for the sidewalk. "But something happened?" she asked.

"Yeah. _I_ happened."

Mary clearly had no idea what he was implying. God, she could be dense. 

"I used to like him," Eli sighed. Maybe if he used the past tense enough, it would get easier.

"You used to...?"

Eli stopped in his tracks and whipped around. "God, are you fucking stupid?" he snapped. "I wanted to _fuck_ him."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Mary said, bringing her hand to her mouth. "Oh..."

Eli scowled irritably. "Yeah."

Unable to stand still, Eli turned back and started off walking down the street again. Mary picked up her pace. After she'd had a moment to think on it, she suggested in a chipper voice, "Have you tried not to be gay?"

The look that Eli gave Mary was so scathing that he did not even need words to communicate how fucking stupid she was, though they certainly helped. "That's not how it fucking works, you dumb bint."

"I!" Mary squeaked, somehow finding the nerve to be offended. "There's no need to —"

"If I could've just stopped it I would've. I hate this. I hate feeling — why the fuck would I _want_ to be this way?"

Mary didn't seem to be able to come up with a satisfactory answer to that question. It took her a while to figure out anything to say. "I know that sin can be terribly tempting..."

Eli snorted loudly. "What, you think fucking blokes is just magically better? Just because it pisses off _god,_ or whatever? Like all the men of the world are just struggling to keep cocks out of our mouths and slum it with girls instead?"

Clearly, Mary had never given more than two seconds of critical thought to the subject. Her mouth opened and closed. "Er, that's not — that's not what I _meant_ —"

"I'm not _gay,_ " Eli defensively clarified. "I still like girls."

"I — I —"

It was only just then that Mary seemed to realize that they were no longer in the hotel. It also made for a useful subject change. She made a sound like she was choking on her own tongue before she exclaimed, "Eli, wait! We can't just _leave!_ "

"Said who?" Eli said. "Nobody stopped us."

"That doesn't mean we're _allowed_ —"

"Nobody ever said that we had to stay in the venue. As long as I'm back for the bus in time, and _you_ get Dr. Thomas to drive you home before Joachim notices anything is wrong, it doesn't even matter."

"Joachim already thinks something is wrong, that I'm out here at all. If I'm even one minute later than he inspects me back, he's calling in an air strike."

"That's a little drastic," Eli said. He wasn't deterred, though — he kept walking on forward, Mary hurrying along behind him. Her shoes and tiny steps created an awful racket. "Have you ever considered walking like a normal person? With like, you know, an actual stride?"

Eli could audibly hear Mary trying to correct her gait. Clearly he'd struck a nerve. "There's nothing wrong with how I walk!"

"Yes there is. You walk around like you've got a rope around your ankles. What's your deal?"

"Wh — I don't — that's not —"

"It absolutely is. You take like four steps to every one I take."

"Well, I'm _sorry_ if I'm not so convinced that it's that _impressive_ to go up stairs three steps at a time."

"Oh, please."

Eli wasn't really sure where they were even walking to. He just started off down the road in the first direction he looked towards and kept going. And however vigorously Mary protested, she followed along after him without slowing down.

"Where are you leading us?" Mary demanded.

"Dunno," Eli said. He shrugged. "There has got to be something out here that's better than milling about in there, waiting for Dr. Thomas to make a fool of himself on the dance floor."

"Dr. Thomas hasn't got both his legs. I doubt we'd see him trying to dance."

"He went off to get drunk. He could do _anything._ "

"Then we ought to head back, so we can stop him!"

"Oh, come off it," Eli said. "You really want to stay in there and accept being gawked at by every boy from St. Francis?"

"Well, no, but —"

"Then let's just go. Anything beats sticking around in that boring dump. We can go have dinner and be back before they're set to bus us home."

"I'm going to get in trouble, Eli!"

"No you fucking aren't. Stop being such a baby and let yourself have a little bit of fun, for once in your life."

That, thankfully, seemed to finally shut Mary up. She groaned loudly, but kept in step with him until their route brought them across a more commercial district of the town.

The first place they passed which seemed an acceptable venue for a dinner date was an upscale Italian restaurant with a plainly well-trafficked storefront. When Eli shouldered inside through the doors, the restaurant effectively revealed its prices; every patron in sight in the dining room was dressed in formalwear and looked like at least _they_ considered themselves to be terribly important.

Eli marched right up to the host at the end of the entryway. "I want a table for two," he demanded.

The host seemed taken aback by Eli's forceful tone, and then doubly so by his disarrayed appearance. "Do you have a reservation?" he asked.

Eli sneered. "What? No."

The man seemed reluctant to even serve them, but he ultimately turned off to inquire about the availability of tables.

Apparently, they were in luck; a waitress with huge tits came to see them through the dining area. They were seated right next to the bathroom at a dismally small table that barely left room for the both of them to sit beneath.

"This seat sucks," Eli complained.

"It's the only table we have open tonight, sir," said the waitress, implacable in the face of Eli's unrelenting petulance.

"It — it's fine," Mary insisted, with a nervous smile.

The waitress was evidently eager to take Mary's word as final, despite Eli's continued attempts to complain; she left them with two menus and escaped out of sight in an instant. Eli gawped at Mary. "It's _not_ fine."

"You heard her. It's the only table they've got, Eli. Making a fuss about it will only make her job harder," Mary sniffed.

"Bullshit. They're just lying. They stuck us here because that stuffy queer of a host didn't like how I looked. Thought I looked too poor to be here, I could tell."

Mary sighed and concluded that there was no sense in even trying to argue. She made a point of flipping open her menu to intently peruse the options; Eli moodily did the same.

Eli couldn't read half the shit on it, and the selections' descriptions were woefully scarce. The restaurant seemed to assume you were pretentious enough to just know off-hand what all of this garbage was without having to have any of the ingredients explained.

His head was still too scrambled to really process any of it. He only felt like he was just now coming down from the stress of his confrontation with Harding. He really didn't want to have to think about it any longer; he'd have to come up with something to distract himself, but he wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to keep up with his amateur seduction game. 

"I'm sorry about what I said, before," Mary eventually mumbled, breaking the silence herself.

"Are you?" Eli asked. He found it a bit hard to believe — it wasn't as if she'd abandoned her irritating religious superiority in the meantime.

Mary nodded. "Yes, I am. Sincerely. I didn't mean to upset you, Eli."

"You do think I'm a sinner, though. Because I happen to like a bit of cock."

Just hearing the statement made Mary visibly cringe. It didn't escape his notice. He clicked his tongue.

"It's just not how I was raised," Mary tried to gently explain. "To... to approve of that sort of thing. It's not... well, it's a bit unnatural, and there are laws against it. But I don't hate you... I don't think you're to _blame_ for — I mean, you've been _taken advantage of_ by your stepf— by _Ocelot_ —"

"I was like this long before he did anything to me," Eli said. "And my father was, too. Big Boss. He has sex with men too."

 _Sex with men._ Mary recoiled again. Eli looked back down to his menu, despite the fact he couldn't focus enough to read it; it wasn't as if he cared much for Mary's opinion of him, but the disapproval was a bit much to take, all the same. Eli couldn't stop the pit of shame that festered at bottom of his stomach. 

"Maybe it's best if we just avoid this topic," Mary concluded, attempting to inject an air of positivity back into the conversation with her bright tone.

"Yeah," Eli agreed, flipping to the next page of his menu. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Eli still hadn't the first clue what he wanted by the time the waitress came back around to take their orders. Mary eagerly gave hers with confident pronunciation, but Eli didn't even know where to begin.

"You got any alcohol?" Eli asked. He figured the night would probably be improved overall by getting drunk. It certainly couldn't make it any worse.

"Well, yes," said the waitress, gesturing to the separate drinks menu on the table. "We've a broad selection of wines and liqueurs available, if you take a look."

"Give me a wine," Eli demanded.

"Er," the waitress said, balking. "I'm sorry, sir. You look a bit young; might I see your ID?"

"My _ID?_ "

"Your identification. Something I can look at to be sure you're of legal age to drink, sir."

"We're both 15," Mary squeaked. The fucking _snake._

"Oh, goodness. Well, then, I'm afraid I can't serve you alcohol. Is there a non-alcoholic beverage you'd prefer?"

Eli glowered at Mary across the table, and she withered under his hateful stare. "Just some fucking water, then, I _guess,_ " Eli said.

"All... all right, then," the waitress said, writing a note down on her pad. "Have you already decided what you'd like to eat?"

"No. I don't speak Italian," Eli said. "What's good?"

"Everything we serve here is good, sir."

Eli rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you to fucking recommend me something, you daft piece of —"

"Eli!!" Mary exclaimed, scandalized. "Oh my goodness, you can't just — you —"

The waitress managed a smile in spite of it all. "How about the pasta with the white wine sauce?" she suggested.

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Be quick about it," Eli said.

Mary was burning with color when the waitress left the table to take their orders to the kitchen. "You were so _rude,_ " she whined. "You really shouldn't... that's not..."

Eli shrugged and leaned back into his chair. "I don't owe her anything."

"You shouldn't be cruel to people for no reason! Why do you do this? Do you just — just _enjoy_ hurting people?"

Eli took a moment to think on it. "Well, yeah," he said. "Everyone does, really. I'm just willing to be honest about it."

Well, that gave Mary's tiny little mind a workout. "That's — that's not —"

"What, it's not right? Good? Moral? God doesn't approve?" Eli said. "I don't give a fuck what your fake god thinks, so reconcile yourself to that."

"Being kind is its own reward!" Mary insisted.

"Haha, yeah, okay. Look how far that attitude has got you — little better than a slave, I'd say."

 _Ugh._ Tears were welling up in Mary's eyes. This was not going well.

Eli was in a terrible mood, frankly, and working this girl took more energy than he had to spend. Maybe this entire trip was a bad idea. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Harding would be there. He'd almost reached a point where he'd forgotten Harding even existed. God _dammit._

Mary sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I've apologized to you for what I said. You don't have to keep... to keep..."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter," Eli spat, whether he meant or not. However angry and spiteful he was, he recognized that he would need to defuse the situation before he said something he wouldn't be able to take back. He had to think long term about the plan.

Thankfully, the waitress arrived soon after with their food — that was surprisingly fast. Mary had a fucking salad, which was just like her. Of _course_ this bitch would come here and get rabbit food. She was probably a vegetarian. The thought made Eli's stomach churn. 

Eli's pasta was all right. He was mostly thankful for the meat in it, which he consumed with open aim to antagonize Mary. However, with her eyes pointedly glued to her own plate, she either didn't notice or didn't care. 

Neither of them really attempted to make much of any conversation while they ate. It was kind of awkward, but what was Eli supposed to do about it? He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't possibly set her off. This girl would burst into tears at a stiff breeze. 

They finished up as quickly as possible, and as if trying to rush them out the door, the waitress promptly brought over the check. Mary took one look at the bill and her face turned whiter than her dress. "Eli, this is... this is so much money..."

"What? How much is it?"

Mary handed the bill across the table for Eli's perusal. Eli took it and was able to immediately conclude that there was no way _he_ would be able to pay for it. "How much money do you have?" he asked.

Mary brought a hand to her mouth. "Um... zero... dollars," she said.

"Oh. Same."

"I thought — I thought _you_ had money —"

"And I thought _you_ would have it," Eli said. "Isn't your fake father rich?"

Mary huffed. "He doesn't give _me_ any of his money. I don't leave the campus. What would I do with it?"

Eli groaned loudly and rose from his seat. "All right, then. Come on."

"What? What are you —"

"We're gonna walk out. What else is there to do?"

Unsurprisingly, Mary seemed less than enthused by the prospect of flagrantly flouting the law. She remained resolutely seated in her chair with her arms crossed and a petulant look on her face. "Eli, that would be wrong!" she declared.

"Well, we can't pay for it. That's not an option."

"We should give the management the contact information for our guardians, and stay until they come and rectify the situation."

Eli gawked at Mary in disbelief. "That's so fucking stupid. What's wrong with you?"

Mary lifted her chin in conviction. "It may be embarrassing and inconvenient, and surely we will be punished for what we've done — but that is simply how our crimes must be answered. We will not be forgiven in this life or the next unless we —"

Eli rolled his eyes, grabbed Mary by the wrist and bodily hauled her up out of her chair.

"Eli!" Mary squeaked, but it was no use — Eli was stronger than her, and her feeble yanks accomplished nothing. Eli pulled her right through the restaurant's dining room, to the door and out. No one stopped them. 

Mary was practically hyperventilating as Eli dragged her along behind him. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness," she kept saying over and over. "We just broke the law. We just — we just broke the _law!_ "

"Yeah, we did," Eli said, walking quickly. They'd have to put a healthy distance between them and the restaurant before the waitress noticed they were gone. "That's why we have to keep moving, and quickly."

Of course, of course, Mary had begun to cry. What a little fucking baby. Eli couldn't _deal_ with girls. Were they all like this? Eli couldn't imagine his mother crying all the time, like Mary did. Maybe Mary was just especially pathetic. 

"We'd probably ought to head back to the school soon," Eli said. "They'll be coming after us, and the big gathering of fancily dressed teenagers won't escape their notice. That'll be the first place they look for us."

That only seemed to make Mary more hysterical. "We're going to go to prison!"

Eli sighed. "No we're not. We're both minors. Even if we got caught, nothing would even happen."

"They could — they could send us to _juvenile detention!_ "

"They won't."

"How do _you_ know!?"

"Well, for one, they aren't going to catch us in the first place, if you can stop dragging your goddamn heels and keep up."

"S-s-slow down so I can cross myself please."

" _What?_ No!"

"Eeeeeeeuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnuuughhhhghhhhhhhh," Mary whined. The people around them on the sidewalk were starting to look at them funny.

"I swear to god, if you don't shut the _fuck_ up _right_ now —"

"Stop those two kids! They're thieves!" shouted a man from behind them.

Eli turned his head; it was an old man with stark white hair in a stuffy tuxedo, his entire face beet red and drenched in sweat from the exertion of running them down. The crowd around them began to turn, and...

Mary started wailing as Eli burst into a sprint, but with his arm gripped like a vice around her wrist, she had no choice but to keep pace. Luckily, they weren't that far from the hotel — and the man they'd chosen to pursue them looked almost half dead from exhaustion.

A couple good samaritans attempted to impede them, but Eli barrelled through the opposition remorselessly. He was putting distance between them effortlessly, and when the hotel came into view, he knew they were home free. All they'd have to do was get back inside, find Dr. Thomas and get the hell out. 

Mary looked like a disaster by the time they burst through the doors of the hotel lobby. Her eyes were bright red, her face was streaked with tears, and there was even a line of snot running down her face. Disgusting. "Wipe your face off, you look like a mess," Eli said.

Mary did as she was told, limping behind as Eli dragged her into the ballroom. Eli had no idea what time it was, but the dance was still in full swing. They would be easily lost in the crowd.

It didn't take Eli long to track down Dr. Thomas. He was teetering on his feet by the punchbowl on the picked-over buffet table. From the way he fumbled uselessly with the ladle, it was clear that he was intoxicated.

"Ugh, he's drunk," Eli remarked. And so were many of the kids around him, Eli observed; half the people on the dance floor were practically falling over.

Mary, thankfully, seemed to have at least come back from the brink of hysteria. "Oh no... Did someone —"

"Spike the punch? Yeah, it looks like it. And Dr. Thomas has had a _lot_ of punch."

"Oh no. Will be able to drive us home?"

Eli shrugged. It didn't really matter. "As long as he's still got the keys, we're fine."

"But —"

Eli paid no attention to Mary's protests. He pushed his way through the crowd to Dr. Thomas, and yelled in his ear to get his attention. "Oi! Thomas!"

Dr. Thomas jerked to attention. "Ugh! The fuck d'you want, kid?"

"Come on, we're leaving," Eli said, using his free hand to grab Thomas's wrist too.

Drunk as he was, he couldn't put up much of a fight. "Eh? We are?"

"Yeah, we are," Eli confirmed. It was a bit awkward to be dragging _two_ people behind him, including a doddering old man who happened to be drunk, but he persevered. "Where'd you leave your car?"

"You think I'm driving you brats like this? You out of your mind?" Dr. Thomas grumbled, lurching along.

"It's fine. I can drive," Eli said.

"You can drive?" Mary repeated, sounding almost awed.

"Uh, yeah. I've been driving cars since I was seven. It's no big deal."

"Th-that's sort of cool."

Eli didn't think driving a car was particularly noteworthy, but he wasn't exactly going to turn down a free compliment. He shrugged. "Whatever. Tell me which car is Thomas's," he said, once they'd made it back out into the car park in front of the hotel. Their pursuer was nowhere to be found, for now.

"Er, will you let me go?" Mary asked.

Eli stepped back awkwardly, to push both of his prisoners in front of him where he could see. "Are you going to bolt back into _the loving arms of the law_ if I do?"

"N-no," Mary stammered, with a sniffle. "I've thought about it and I've decided that Joachim will do something rash if he finds out, and that's not for the best of the restaurant — surely if I mail them the money myself later and go to confession I can —"

"Oh, for god's sake, just shut up and go find the car," Eli said, letting Mary free.

Mary rubbed at her wrist; Eli could clearly see the marks where he'd been gripping her when she rolled back her sleeve. Thankfully, she indeed seemed to be calm when she turned and lead them through the lines of cars, down to the one she recognized as Dr. Thomas's.

"It's here," Mary said. 

Eli was surprised by the dreadful state of Dr. Thomas's car. Though Eli was hardly an expert on cars, even he recognized it was some sort of Aston Martin grand tourer — but it clearly looked like it hadn't seen the inside of a shop in over 20 years. All the hubcaps were missing, the hood was slightly crumpled at the front and the entire body was covered in dings and scratches. Who the fuck buys a car that expensive and then doesn't take care of it at all?

Eli sighed and dumped Dr. Thomas's body over the hood of his own car. The only resistance Dr. Thomas offered as Eli began to dig through his pockets was a series of utterly unintelligible grumbles. He flapped his arms uselessly. 

Eventually, Eli located Thomas's keys and pulled them out for inspection. His keyring was full of what felt like hundreds of fucking keys of all shapes and sizes — Eli hadn't the first clue which one was the car key. It was an old car, so it wasn't like it was going to resemble any of the shoddy jeeps he'd driven in Africa. Thomas clearly wasn't in the state of mind to tell him, either; he seemed perfectly content to just lay out on the hood of his own car. 

The only solution was to go over to the door and start trying every key until he found the one that fit. When he finally got the car open, he moved back over to Thomas and said to Mary, "Come on, help me get him into the back."

Mary went up ahead and moved the seat up so that Eli could haul the bastard onto the back seat, where he laid stretched out like a ragdoll. "You fuckin' kids," Thomas mumbled, reaching uselessly into the air above him. "When I get back up, I'm 'unna, I'll — show you what's for —"

"Yeah, yeah, take a nap, grandpa," Eli said, and moved the passenger seat back into position.

As Mary climbed inside, Eli went around to the driver's side, got in and put the key into the ignition. It started up with a deathly sputter that didn't especially bode well, but the engine eventually got going. "This car is a piece of shit," Eli said.

"She's perfect," Thomas slurred.

"Dr. Thomas?" Mary said gently. "Are you all right?"

"He's just drunk," Eli said.

Dr. Thomas slapped his hand against the back of the driver seat. "Yup. Just drunk."

"I can't believe someone spiked the punch!" Mary exclaimed. 

"I got bored," Thomas said.

Mary covered her mouth. " _You_ spiked it?"

Eli looked over his shoulder as he began to back the car out of its parking spot. It'd been a long time since he'd driven a car, and he kind of came out with a lurch that made Mary squeal like a little pig.

"Eli!!" she yelled. "Careful!"

"I _am_ being careful," Eli said. He pulled out into the lane, shifted gears and eased the car forward. "See, I know what I'm doing."

With his eyes ahead of him, Eli spotted the cops walking up to the venue. _Oh, shit._ "Mary, get your head down."

Panicked, Mary did as she was told. Eli did his best to look as inconspicuous as possible as he drove out onto the road.

It looked like they were safe, for now. It was unlikely the police would suspect that a couple of rogue teenagers attending a school dance would escape by _stealing a car._ The only problem was... Eli had absolutely no fucking idea where they were. "Okay, so how do I get back to school?" he asked.

Evidently concluding it must've been safe, Mary sat up and properly did her seatbelt. "Y-you don't know?"

"How the fuck would I know? I came here on the bus. And it's not like I drive around here at all. Hey, Thomas!"

The only answer Eli got from the old man was a rattling snore. _Great._

Mary was looking back over her seat. "D-do you want me to wake him up?" she asked.

"No, don't. He's so drunk, he's not going to be any use to us anyway," Eli said.

"Oh..." Mary said. "Well, I guess, um, we'd ought to find a motorway, right? Heading east. That should take us in the right direction, shouldn't it?"

"I guess so," Eli said. He rolled along easily with the traffic as he watched carefully for road signs that would point his way.

It was pretty enjoyable, being back in the driver's seat again. Even though it'd been so long since he'd been behind the wheel, it all came back to him like he'd never stopped. He felt like he'd regained some degree of control and self-possession, like he could do anything, go anywhere —

It finally occurred to Eli that he _could._

There was absolutely nothing preventing him from dumping Mary and Dr. Thomas on the side of the road and taking this car literally anywhere he wanted to go. He could ferry across the channel and get lost somewhere in the middle of Europe where no one would find him. He could finally be free of all of this.

But, really... that had been true all along, hadn't it? If he really wanted to go, no one could have stopped him. It was hardly the first time he'd thought about it. So, why didn't he, still?

Eli glanced over to Mary.

At first he'd told himself that it was because he didn't want to disappoint his mother, and then he stayed because he wanted more from Ocelot. But was putting up with Ocelot's fucking games really worth it? Was he really ever going to convince Ocelot to go all the way?

What if he just said _fuck it,_ and left for real? Why the fuck did he ever think any of this was worth it?

Eli's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He'd made up his mind.

"Is — is there something on my face?" Mary asked.

"What?"

"You, you keep looking at me."

"No, it's nothing," Eli said. "But we're going to have to stop by a petrol station before we go anywhere. The tank is almost out of fuel."

That gave Mary an idea. "Oh, that's good! We should be able to get a map there. Then I can navigate for us!"

It didn't take Eli long to locate somewhere to stop, at least. He couldn't afford the fuel himself, so Eli had to fleece Dr. Thomas of his wallet and pull out all his cash. He was surprisingly loaded — Eli handed Mary a few quid to take into the station and pocketed the rest for himself. If Thomas came looking for it later, he'd just claim ignorance. 

Eli was just finishing up the task of refueling when Mary triumphantly returned with a map. "I got one!" she exclaimed, apparently very pleased with herself.

"Good. Let's go, then."

The map did help. Mary was able to guide Eli onto the motorway, and it was pretty much a straight shot across to St. Francis for the next hour. It made driving a simple matter.

"I... I have to admit," Mary said, bringing her hands to her face. "B-breaking the law... it's a bit of a rush, isn't it?"

Well, that was about the last thing Eli ever expected Mary to blurt out. He grinned. "Now you know what being a sinner is all about."

Mary smiled despite herself. "I really do intend to pay that bill in the end," she said. "Even if it takes me a lifetime to get the money myself, I'll make things right."

"Whatever. As long as you aren't screwing things up for _me,_ I don't care what you do."

The two of them fell into silence again for a time, but for the grating sound of Thomas snoring in the back. Eli was content to drive like that, but Mary seemed intent on starting up some sort of conversation. "Would you... would you tell me about yourself?" she asked.

"About myself?" Eli repeated. That was an awfully broad request.

"Yes," she said. "I already know _what_ you are... _Les Enfants Terribles_... but that's not _who_ you are, you know? I think I'd understand you better, if you told me more. About what your life was like, growing up."

"Well," Eli said, tapping on the steering wheel of the car. He figured he may as well humor her — it wasn't as if it would hurt. "I've told you. I was a clone. I was born from a science experiment. In America, actually. They kept me for a while, but then the project got canned, so they sent me to England. Got shunted about from foster home to foster home. But then I escaped, when I was seven, and I lived on my own in Africa until I was 14."

"All by yourself? Really?" Mary asked.

"I recruited some other child soldiers, I guess. I had a gang. But no adults, no."

"I... I can't even imagine anything that like. At such a young age... when I was seven, I don't think I'd even yet seen the outside world with my own two eyes."

"What? Your mother kept you locked up every hour of the day?"

Mary nodded. "It was too dangerous for me to go outside, she said... but it wasn't so bad. I had plenty to read."

"Ugh," Eli groaned. "That's worse than being a child soldier. I'd have gone nuts. I can barely handle being holed up at St. Francis."

"It wasn't a very eventful life, but it was safe... I never had to worry about anything, really. Food, money... everything was provided for me. It sounds like your life was very hard."

"Eh? Not really," Eli said. "If you know how to hunt and make a fire, it's not so bad. Not any harder than pretending you belong in a place like this."

Mary was staring down at her hands in her lap. "I could never make it on my own like that," she mumbled.

"How do you know? Have you ever tried?"

Mary looked up. "W-well, I haven't, no — but — that's because I _wouldn't._ I'm not strong enough, or smart enough, and... well, it just wouldn't be a very good idea."

"Is that true? Or do you just believe that because that's what everyone has told you your entire life?"

Mary didn't seem to know how to respond to that.

"I was _born_ to be inferior," Eli said, keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on the road ahead of him. "Everything I am, everything I'm meant to be, was encoded in my very genes from the beginning — I'm defined only by how I'm _lesser._ Lesser than my father. Lesser than my brother. Lesser than the soldier I could be. But I don't let that stop me. I'll never let that stop me. I'll prove them wrong. I'll prove my fate wrong. I'll prove _god_ wrong, if I have to."

"Do you really think I could —"

"You can do anything if you're willing to fight for it and _take it._ "

Mary was left with a lot to think about. She spent the rest of the drive in silence, worrying at her lip with her teeth.

It was late at night when they finally arrived back at St. Francis, but it still seemed that they beat the bus back. Eli left the car, with Dr. Thomas in it, in the car park; he considered taking the keys along with him, but he ultimately decided to put them back into the old man's pocket. He seemed content to continue his deep sleep. 

It was probably a bit of a risk to walk Mary back to her tower, but Eli did it anyway. It was still before Mary was supposed to be back, so he wasn't too worried about Joachim spotting them together. He wouldn't linger long, anyway.

Eli took her as far as the foot of the faculty quarters, but when she bid him goodbye and turned to walk up the stairs to the door, Eli called out and stopped her.

Mary turned back around, surprised, as Eli closed the distance between them. She flinched when he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Mary," Eli said, in as serious a tone as he could muster. "I'm going to leave St. Francis."

"Eli?" Mary said, the pitch of her voice high. She held her hands close to her chest.

"And I want you to come away with me," Eli said, his grip firm on Mary's lacy shoulders. "Let's just get out of this dump. You think you can't make it on your own, but I can show you how. You'll do fine. I'm sure of it."

That had already brought Mary to the brink of tears again. "Eli, I — I can't —"

Eli shook his head. "Yes you can. And you _want_ to."

"But Joachim —"

"Isn't the man you thought he was," Eli said. "You think you love him, but you're wrong. You just went along with him because he was the first man to ever treat you like a person. And he's not doing that anymore, is he?"

Mary's trembling lips parted and her tears spilled from her eyes. "Eli. Eli," she whispered. "I'm scared."

Eli let her go. It wouldn't do any good to force her. "Yeah, of course you are. But you won't have to be afraid anymore if you come with me. We'll get out of here, out of the country. It won't matter where we go. I'll protect you."

Mary brought her hands to her face, covering her nose and mouth as she struggled not to sob. "I — I —"

"You don't have to decide tonight," Eli said, backing away. "If you change your mind, meet me under the stands at 9PM Monday."

Thus Eli turned, and left her standing at the foot of the tower.

 

***

 

**16 May, 1988. Wolf Hall.**

"I'm leaving St. Francis tonight," Eli announced.

It was just a week away from half-term, but Eli couldn't stand to wait any longer. He was going to have to act now — whichever way it went, the matter would be ended that night.

Samuel, of course, picked up on what Eli was requesting. "You want me to tell him," he said.

Eli nodded. "I'm meeting with Mary under the stands by the rugby field at 9PM today. I'm leaving together with her. For good."

And so Eli gathered his things, went down from the dorm and attempted to go about his day of classes without drawing suspicion. He wasn't surprised by how on edge he felt — this had been a long time coming.

He skipped his appointment with Ocelot entirely. Normally, this might have resulted in an aggravating midday visit to chastise him for his negligence, but, of course, since Ocelot knew...

Eli ate supper and went up to his dorm for one last check, just to be sure he had everything he'd need. He changed into plain clothes and some boots that could survive a bit of a beating, and hid his knife in the waistband of his trousers. That was all that was necessary, really — anything else he'd pick up on the road, if it came to that.

It was after curfew, so he had to sneak out. He took Samuel's key and let himself into the first years' room on the second floor — he wasn't especially concerned about being spotted by a couple of kids on his way out. He could have intimidated them if he needed too. But it seemed like they were out in the commons; nobody was inside the dorm.

So, unimpeded, Eli made his way down from the window and across the yard. The campus was deserted at night, and he wasn't worried, so he didn't even try to hide himself.

The dark shapes of the stands slowly resolved in the distance as he approached the rugby field, and the air was crisp and silent around him. He was a bit early, and saw no signs yet of Mary — or anyone else, for that matter. 

Beneath the stands, Eli was covered in almost complete darkness. No one who didn't know to look for him would've found him there, had they passed. And so he stood and waited.

It was some time until he heard the first set of footsteps approaching the stands. Eli instinctively backed up further beneath cover in anxious anticipation. He _must've_ been able to tell who it was from the timbre of the footfalls, but when it was Ocelot came into view between the metal frame, Eli was actually... disappointed.

Huh.

Though he'd imagined this moment many times, and what he'd do when it arrived — step out, gloat, hold Ocelot's obvious investment over his head and goad him until he got what he wanted — now that it was really happening, Eli didn't do anything. He stood completely still in the shadows, all but holding his breath, as if he were hoping that if he were motionless enough, Ocelot would just leave.

Unfortunately, though, Ocelot did no such thing. "Eli, I can tell you're there," he said. 

Eli wished he'd had a watch. He had no idea how long it was until the strike of 9. He hoped Mary wouldn't show up during their confrontation.

Well, might as well get this over with. Eli stepped forward until the gaps in the stands cast a ray of moonlight over his face. "Samuel told you," he said.

Ocelot said nothing. Instead, he began advancing forward. Eli took one step back for Ocelot's every two.

"All of this, this is over," Eli said. Ocelot was drawing closer and closer. "I'm really leaving, tonight, right now."

It didn't occur to Eli until that very moment just how serious he was.

Eli was sick and tired of this farce of a life. He was done with the regimented banality and the ignominious submission to authority and the notion that he could ever accept a life of _normalcy_ — and not least of all, Eli was done giving a _shit_ about what Ocelot thought. 

"I don't even care anymore," Eli said, and found that he meant it. Ocelot was within reach, now. "I'm done here, and I'm going and not coming back."

And so Eli turned and began to leave, just as he promised. Ocelot reached out and took Eli by the arm; Eli sneered over his shoulder and spat, "Don't try to force me. You won't take me alive."

Perhaps because Ocelot hadn't actually expected Eli to sincerely resist, Eli easily pulled away and carried forward. He had every intention of walking straight into the woods and not coming back. He'd go wherever his legs could carry him. He —

But Ocelot pursued him. Eli felt Ocelot's fingers dig into his upper arm again, and this time, Ocelot didn't easily give when he tried to break away. His grasp was so tight it was painful. 

When Eli turned with a scowl on his face, Ocelot was so obviously angry that it was honestly a little startling. Eli had never seen Ocelot with such undisguised emotion, of any sort — Ocelot actually bared his teeth as he snarled, "Eli, don't you _dare_ —"

Instinct sent a surge of adrenaline through Eli's body. He wrest himself free of Ocelot's grip and ran for his life.

He bolted across the yard and towards the line of trees on the edge of campus. He didn't look back, but he could hear the sound of Ocelot running after him; he ran as fast as he could, pushed by a pure concentration of will. 

Eli's sudden sprint bought him enough of a lead to bring him safely to the line of trees and he burst into the woods without hesitation. The trees were densely spaced and the ground was littered with leaves and perilously gnarled roots but Eli didn't let it slow him down — he jumped across obstacles and took erratic turns around the trunks and ran only with the aim of shaking off his pursuer.

Unfortunately, Ocelot showed no signs of being deterred, nor of slowing down — Eli ran and ran until his lungs felt as if they were being torn by knives but he could hear him, behind him but just out of reach, untiring and unrelenting —

Eventually Eli ran until even the woods gave out, and he had no choice but to make a mad dash through the clearing. He lost his advantage of speed and agility without the trees around him, and at last he was caught by a fumbling grasp.

It wasn't enough to stop him, but it did throw him off balance — Eli stumbled and nearly fell but he scrambled and lurched, forward and forward and he had hope but the second grab around his waist brought him down. 

The both of them tumbled into the ground, and Eli kicked and struggled and flailed but found all of his efforts overpowered. Ocelot had him on his back, pressing him down, pinning his arms by the wrists, and then — 

When Ocelot kissed his lips, Eli felt all of the fight go out of his body. 

Eyes wide, paralyzed, he stared up into Ocelot's face above him and struggled to even comprehend what happened. "Wha — what —"

Eli's already fragmented thought was interrupted when Ocelot descended on him again, crushing his lips with a fervent urgency. Eli reacted as if from reflex, and moved back against him, eagerly tasting Ocelot's lips and tongue — his limbs felt weak and his abdomen felt hot, and he fisted his hands in Ocelot's clothes with a helplessly trembling grip.

It felt so much like being consumed. Ocelot had none of the careful restraint he displayed when he touched Eli in his office — none of the chilly distance of methodical calculation. He was hot and urgent and utterly uncontrolled; for once, he was letting himself take what he wanted.

It was as frightening as it was exciting. It felt good to be wanted and touched and devoured, and he'd begged for this, but Eli had never felt so completely removed from the seat of control. 

"Ocelot," Eli squeaked out against Ocelot's lips, but was only answered with a tongue in his mouth. "Oce—"

Eli submitted with a pitiful groan when Ocelot ground his leg between his thighs. The heat in his chest was swiftly spreading to his cock, and as he grew harder Ocelot's hands began to wander further — down his sides, cupping his ass, up under the hem of his shirt to stroke over his burning skin. 

When Ocelot finally pulled back Eli felt as if he'd just run a marathon — he was completely out of breath, his chest heaving from exertion. If he'd even had the thought to escape it would've been pointless, because Ocelot had him pinned sat astride his waist.

Eli froze as Ocelot's hands went straight for the buckle of his own belt. Ocelot looked to be nearly as flustered as Eli as he fumbled with the button of his fly, and then his zipper, and then — 

Ocelot had his cock in his own gloved hand, already so hard it was throbbing and red and glistening with precum. Without even thinking about it, Eli reached out. 

Ocelot didn't give Eli a chance to experimentally feel him out — he was back down on Eli's lips the moment their skin touched. Eli's heart was beating so quickly but he could feel Ocelot's pulse just as strongly beneath his fingers. He couldn't help but moan in his throat as he squeezed Ocelot tightly in his hand.

Eli didn't resist when Ocelot wedged a hand between them and began to undo his trousers. He breathed out against Ocelot's lips as they slid together, hot skin against skin, fumbling with his own hand to close around the both of them — Ocelot knocked him aside and took them both into his own hand.

Ocelot had nothing approaching finesse as he jerked the both of them off, and the texture of his glove certainly made for a bizarre sensation. It honestly didn't even feel like much of a sexual experience at all — Eli just lay there stupefied, staring up into Ocelot's eyes five centimeters from his, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of Ocelot's breath on his face.

It began and finished in close to an instant, and Eli wasn't even sure if he felt the orgasm — but still his breath seized and he gripped tight onto Ocelot's shoulders until Ocelot took his wrists and pinned them up beside his head.

The way that Ocelot stared down at Eli was unnerving beyond description. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his pupils like pinpricks amidst the cold grey of his irises — he was at once full of emotion and utterly bereft of it. He breathed through his nose, but noisily, as if his lungs hadn't the capacity of the amount of air he needed to breath in and out. 

Apparently, Ocelot had managed to get off, too — he looked to be going soft, and Eli certainly felt like there was a lot of cum pooling on his stomach. 

With his arms trapped in a crushing grip, Eli couldn't move or hope to escape. Fear gathered in his chest and left him paralyzed.

"I want this," Ocelot said. It was a simple admission, but hard won.

Despite his nerves, Eli managed to laugh. "I know you do."

"I won't let you leave," Ocelot said, but it was almost like he wasn't even speaking _to_ Eli. He was practically muttering to himself, just above his breath, with a nearly maniacal urgency. "I don't know why I — you —" He lost his train of thought mid-sentence. "I deserve this. Everything I've done — all this time —"

"Stop it," Eli said, scowling. Ocelot's hands on his wrists hurt. "Get off of me."

Ocelot snapped back into focus at Eli's words, and as soon as he did, he jerkily pulled back and staggered off of him. The old man was as mad as a fucking dog.

Eli lifted himself up to sit, but hadn't the first clue of how to even react to what just happened. He rubbed at his wrists. "We just —"

Ocelot wiped at his mouth with a shaky hand. "Yeah."

Eli thought he was probably in better shape than Ocelot was, right now. "Don't try to tell me that you didn't mean it," he said, dry. 

"No. I meant it," Ocelot said.

"So, what, then? What does this mean?"

Slowly, then, Ocelot began to put himself back together, piece by piece. He straightened his back, and then his clothes — he worked the tremble from his hands and the heaving breaths from his chest. He set his jaw and then his eyes, and then he wiped any hint of a soul from his face. "We go back," he said.

Just moments ago, Eli had been so sure that he was done. He was sure it wasn't worth it. He didn't want to deal with any of this any longer, but — 

Well, he'd already got this far. May as well pick himself up and keep going.

So he climbed to his feet and fixed his trousers, and followed Ocelot along when he turned back to the school.

The trip felt much longer on the way back — of course, they'd run there full speed. Eli trailed behind Ocelot a few comfortable paces as they walked through the woods, careful to disguise the uneasy tremble of his legs. They passed through in silence. 

Eli thought of Mary when they emerged from the line of trees and passed by the stands again. Surely if she were planning to come — Eli was sure she had — she'd have already arrived and found Eli missing.

 _Oh, well._ There was nothing to do about it now. 

Ocelot walked Eli right up to Wolf Hall and into the foyer. Ocelot gave the excuses Eli needed to be allowed back upstairs without a lecture about breaking the rules, and then he left Eli there without so much as a lingering look back. 

Eli climbed the steps up to his room two at a time. He tried to use his key, but found his door unlocked anyway. He let himself in.

Samuel was still up in bed, but he wasn't even reading, like he usually was. It almost looked like he was waiting up for Eli. "... I thought you were leaving," he said, though he didn't look surprised to see Eli back.

"So did I," Eli said, and collapsed into his own bed.


	24. Like A Virgin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you been having a blessed Easter? :-)

**17 May, 1988. St. Francis.**

Eli went straight for the administration building after his classes let out for the day. 

It was the first day since — well, since everything that had happened the night before. And when Eli arrived at Ocelot's office, it would be the first time he'd looked Ocelot in the eye since touching his cock.

It was bizarre. There was something about it that Eli couldn't get out of his head — the feeling of Ocelot's lips on his lingered more vividly than the sensation of having his cock sucked. He could feel it, over and over again, as if it'd only just happened a second before, and he felt something burn in his chest and leave him lightheaded and faint. He wanted Ocelot to kiss him again, and to feel the warmth of his body pressed against his and that desperate isolating hunger — it was intoxicating to want and feel so wanted.

He could feel his heart in his throat as he walked through reception and down the hall to the offices where Ocelot worked. He had no idea what to expect. He was filled with anticipation and dread — was he finally going to get what he wanted, or would Ocelot pull away again?

He wouldn't find out until he got there.

Eli felt terribly exposed as he walked through the administration building, like everyone who looked at him could immediately tell where he was going and what was about to happen. He couldn't escape the lingering shame, no matter how much he resented the weakness it brought him.

Eventually, Eli found himself stood outside of the door to Ocelot's office. He couldn't hear a sound through it, even when he listened closely. His hand faltered over the handle to the door; it took him a long time to muster up the courage to finally turn it.

But when he did, he found the door locked. That was unusual — Ocelot always left his office door opened. Nervously, Eli knocked himself. "It's me," he said.

It was a minute before he heard the sound of Ocelot unlocking the door from the other side. Then, Ocelot pulled it back just a crack — Eli saw one eye staring coldly down at him through the gap in the door. 

"Come in, quickly," Ocelot said, his voice low. He pulled open the door so Eli could slip through it, and then shut it quickly behind him.

Eli immediately had his back up against the door — Ocelot forcefully shoved him flush with it, his hand on Eli's neck. Eli froze, eyes wide. Ocelot's fingers trailed up until he was gripping Eli by the chin, hard.

Eli wasn't sure how to react. He looked back at Ocelot, stunned still, searching his eyes for any sort of cue — but this wasn't like discoordinated spontaneous encounter in the woods. Ocelot was prepared for this. Through clenched teeth, Eli bit out, "What do y—"

Ocelot decided that he didn't want to talk. He cut off Eli with a kiss on the lips, graceless, forcing his tongue in —

Eli grappled uselessly with Ocelot's sleeves, shuddering, unsure of what to do with his hands or his legs or his lips or his brain. He choked out muffled sounds against Ocelot's mouth, and Ocelot commanded him to _shut up, someone will hear you._

As if Eli could even devote a single sliver of his energy to thinking about that. He went along as Ocelot hauled him about, pushed him backwards towards the desk, fumbling artlessly with Eli's clothes as he went. 

The backs of Eli's thighs hit Ocelot's desk and Ocelot pushed him back, lying him flat. Pens and paper and a mug scattered to the ground. He'd got his shirt off, and Ocelot was pulling at his trousers, but his shoes were still on so Eli tried to kick those off despite the spread of his legs and Ocelot between them — any sort of coordinated motion was all the more impeded when Ocelot descended on him again, biting at his mouth with his teeth, over his jaw and throat and collar.

He had his pants off and Ocelot's fingers were between his legs, probing invasively. Eli bit back a gasp when Ocelot took a hold of his cock with a gloved hand, squeezed tight on the shaft and brought his fist up over the head — Eli was already hard and dripping precum.

But he hadn't come here to get jacked off. Eli swallowed a mouthful of spit and mumbled, "Are you — are you going to —"

Ocelot stilled, and mouthed the words against the skin of Eli's neck. "You want me to?"

Eli shifted uncomfortably, still pulsing into Ocelot's fist. "Um, yeah," he answered. "What the fuck do you think I went to all this trouble for?"

Ocelot bit into Eli's flesh, hard.

Eli tried to suppress his startled noise, but it was no use. "Fuck," he cursed, digging his fingernails into Ocelot's shoulders. Ocelot pulled back, and when Eli leaned up after him, pressed Eli firmly back down onto the desk. 

Eli watched with building trepidation as Ocelot worked on his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, lowered his fly; Eli could see clearly now the erection straining the fabric. But as Eli waited anxiously for him to just pull it out, Ocelot brought a hand to his mouth to tug one of his gloves off with his teeth. And then immediately shoved it directly into Eli's mouth.

"Be quiet," Ocelot commanded. "Don't open your mouth. Don't talk. Bite that if you have to."

Eli could've easily spit it out if he wanted to, but he decided he'd play along. Maybe it would help him keep quiet. He didn't exactly want someone to come barging in.

Eli was more startled when Ocelot suddenly flipped him onto his stomach. The edge of the desk dug painfully into his hips and he tried to shift to get more comfortable, but he lost any hope of that when Ocelot wrenched Eli's arms behind his back and bound them at the wrists with his belt.

"Ughhh," Eli groaned from around the gag, letting his forehead fall against the desk. Ocelot ignored him completely.

It was a little strange being sort of — blind, like this. Ocelot usually had him on his back when they were screwing around before, and he'd expected his first time would go the same — he expected he'd at least be able to watch, anticipate what was coming. But he had no idea what to expect with his face pressed down onto a desk.

Eli nearly jumped when he felt something wet drip onto his back and down between his legs — he tried to contort himself uncomfortably to figure out what the fuck Ocelot was doing, but Ocelot was quick to forcefully shove him back flat. He grimaced when his forehead painfully collided with the surface of the desk again. "Keep still," Ocelot demanded.

He figured out soon enough what it was, anyway, when Ocelot slipped his fingers through the mess and pressed them to rub circles around the entrance to Eli's ass. Eli practically choked on the glove.

Ocelot had mentioned lube before, but he'd never _used_ it. Claimed he didn't have any. "I wasn't _planning_ to do this," Ocelot would protest, continuously, even after they'd been fooling around for weeks — but, well, apparently, now he'd given up on even pretending.

Eli bit down into the glove in his mouth as he felt Ocelot press his fingers inside, starting straight with two. It burned for just a moment, but the lubricant made for an easy slide. It felt very different from the spit — thicker, much smoother, almost unnaturally so. Eli kind of missed the friction.

But Ocelot wasn't touching Eli with his pleasure in mind. He drove his fingers into Eli's body forcefully, stretching him apart — he went to three fingers not long after he'd begun. Eli felt rivulets of drool running down his chin.

Ocelot pulled back and out. The sudden deprivation was startling. Eli shivered reflexively. He wished he could see what Ocelot was doing. Chewing the glove helped his nerves. His chin and cheeks were covered in his own spit, the air chilly and uncomfortable on his face; his wrists ached and his joints hurt from being twisted and unnaturally restrained. He was hard, dripping, his heart was beating so quickly — he wished he could see. He wished he could see. Why wasn't Ocelot _doing_ anything? Had he just fucking left? Had he —

And then Eli felt Ocelot press the head of his cock against his ass. 

Eli jumped, startled, but Ocelot kept him steady with a hand on his back. Eli flexed his hands, his eyes wide, stared at the woodgrain of the desk — his vision felt like it was trembling, blurred. Ocelot was taking his time. Eli breathed out heavily through his nose, sucked on the leather in his mouth, bit down as he felt himself slowly being spread apart. 

It was tight. The pressure of it felt like it was reaching into his spine. It felt strange, definitely different from the sensation of fingers — fuller, more overwhelming. There was more friction, now. It burned, just a little, as Ocelot pressed deeper and deeper in, but the lube spread further with each of his shallow thrusts. Maybe it might have hurt worse if they hadn't screwed around before.

The glove was so drenched in saliva. It almost slipped out of Eli's mouth but he sucked it back in. He whined around it.

It felt like it'd been nearly an eternity when Ocelot finally made it all the way in. Eli's breath was already run ragged from the anticipation and his cock was so hard he'd probably come from a stiff enough breeze — had it not been for the gag in his mouth Eli would have been begging for it shamelessly. Ocelot stopped once he hit the edge, and just lingered like that, like he was letting Eli take the time to adjust. Eli didn't understand why. He just wanted Ocelot to fucking _fuck_ him already.

And, at last, he did — Ocelot held onto the painful binding around Eli's wrists as a grip and then thrust, once and then twice and still too slow but it felt more intense than Eli had even expected. He drew in a sharp breath, released a muffled moan, sucked in noisily around the glove as he rocked back, desperate to take it in deeper; Ocelot graciously obliged, driving his cock into Eli's body again and again, as hard as he wanted, in just the right spot — 

The gag could only do so much to suppress the noises rising from Eli's throat. He bit down hard on the glove, gnashing it in his teeth. Tears brimmed in his eyes. Each of Ocelot's thrusts drove his body forcefully into desk, and sometimes he banged his chin or his head, couldn't find one comfortable way to lay in and even if he had he'd just get fucked right out of place anyway. He felt like he was being split apart.

Eli knew he wouldn't last long. It was all so intense and it burned but, god, it was good — it was what he wanted, what he'd begged for, what he'd wasted all this fucking time and energy to get. His ass was so slick and wet but filled and he could feel Ocelot pulse inside him, hot to the point of burning as he slammed in and out, pleasure building and building until he reached a hand around and took Eli's cock into his fist.

Eli came almost immediately after being touched; Ocelot got in maybe three hard strokes before Eli was shooting forcefully over his hand, onto the surface of the desk and down its side. The gag fell from his mouth and he gasped, spit pouring out of his mouth, down his chin, as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and release took him in rolling waves. Eli couldn't even imagine what he looked like, sounded like — he was completely incoherent. Ocelot kept going well through his orgasm, fucking him and pumping him until he was beyond overstimulated and begging for it to stop.

When Ocelot finally pulled out and released Eli from his grip, Eli felt completely boneless and wasted. He'd have collapsed if he weren't already laid flat out on a desk. He sucked in a rattling breath. "Oh, god," he exhaled, face pressed to the wood. 

But, of course, Ocelot still hadn't finished. After all, he was ancient, and Eli was _basically_ a virgin — more or less — it was to be expected that the old man would take a bit longer.

But if Eli had been hoping for a moment to rest and catch his breath, he didn't get one. Ocelot unbound his wrists, and then pulled Eli down to sit in his lap in the chair opposite his desk.

Eli had sat in this chair many, many times before, though certainly never like this — panting, exhausted, covered in lube and cum with his thighs spread across Ocelot's legs and the man's hard cock pressed insistently into his abdomen.

Eli was so spent he could hardly hold himself up — he had to brace himself on Ocelot's shoulders with both hands as Ocelot kissed his lips, tenderly with a carefully restrained ferocity that Eli could be certain wouldn't be kept in check for long. Eli sighed shakily, leaning in as Ocelot's soft hands explored the contours of his back, his ass, his thighs, squeezing him sensuously until he began to feel the impossibly early stirrings of arousal all over again.

Eli was helpless in Ocelot's grip as he raised Eli's hips and guided him back down onto his cock. It slid in effortlessly and yet felt no less overwhelming — Ocelot caught Eli's lips again in the beginning of moan, swallowing the sound with his own mouth.

"Careful," Ocelot muttered against his throat, nipping at the skin. 

God, it was hard. Eli was trembling, barely able to keep himself upright at all. It was a miracle he hadn't devolved into complete incoherence already.

Despite how wasted he was, Eli found himself moving desperately the moment Ocelot sank his cock all the way back in. He rolled his hips, aided by Ocelot's grip on his thighs, and drew a sharp breath as he felt the jolt of pleasure shoot to his overstimulated cock — he was still mostly soft, but that wouldn't last long at this rate.

When Ocelot seemed confident enough that Eli had got his volume under control, his lips trailed beneath the line of Eli's jaw. Eli rolled in Ocelot's lap, unable to manage much more than a shallow depth with the angle, but the sensation of his cock against Ocelot's stomach was almost good enough. Eli arched back as Ocelot licked over his body, sucked his nipples into his mouth — Ocelot ran his tongue over the sensitive flesh, grazed his teeth around the edge, sucked hard until the skin turned purple and Eli was covered in marks.

Eli was held up by nothing but the support of Ocelot's hands now, his head thrown back, eyes all but rolled into his skull as Ocelot devoured his body. Ocelot bit down around the nipple in his mouth and Eli bit his own tongue.

"Fuck!" Eli almost shouted, unable to contain himself. Ocelot growled and lifted Eli up, bringing their lips back together, biting — Eli yelped when Ocelot's teeth broke the skin of his lip.

Ocelot grew more urgent, gripping hard as he forcefully lifted Eli's hips up and down on his cock. Eli held on, his arms around Ocelot's neck, lips together for the fleeting moments before another hard erratic thrust jolted them apart. 

Eli was hard again, aching from overstimulation. Ocelot's cock spread him apart and filled him thoroughly and even so soon after his last release he was rapidly nearing another climax. Ocelot brought him closer and closer with every time he brought Eli down, thrust up, hitting that spot inside of him that sparked white spots in his vision and made him feel like he was being pushed off the edge. 

"I — I'm gonna come again," Eli babbled, digging his nails into Ocelot's shoulders.

Ocelot replied by standing straight up out of the chair, taking Eli with him. Eli choked out a gasp as Ocelot dropped his back onto the desk, leaving him empty and winded, but Ocelot's cock only slipped out for a moment — Ocelot was back upon him in an instant, driving himself back inside.

With Eli back on the desk, Ocelot had much better vantage to thrust. Eli held on for dear life as Ocelot slammed into him, hard and so fast that the sensation all but blurred into an indistinguishable steady stream of violent sensation. Ocelot bit into the flesh of Eli's neck and Eli raked his nails down Ocelot's back and Ocelot pummeled him, harder and harder until Eli was coming again, this time even more intensely than the last, his cries muffled only by Ocelot's palm clamped firmly over his mouth. Eli bit down and felt blood run over his tongue and it tasted so fucking good, felt so fucking good, like his body was fucking disintegrating. He rode out the high as Ocelot kept rocking into him, somehow still, _still_ not to his own release — 

Eli had no ability to support his own body weight with his legs, but that was just as well, because Ocelot immediately forced him to his knees on the ground anyway. Eli hadn't even properly come to his senses before Ocelot had his cock right in his face. Apparently he'd decided that he intended to finish in Eli's mouth.

Eli had never really _sucked_ a _cock_ before, and the prospect of doing so was a bit daunting. While he understood the logistics in theory, he wasn't exactly educated on the technique — it wasn't like looking at pictures of girls with cocks in their mouths gave him much indication of what he should _do_ with it. But he was certainly eager to try it, even exhausted as he was — he felt saliva building up in his mouth from just the thought of it — and he knew what _he_ liked, so it couldn't be all that difficult.

The fact that the thing had just been inside his asshole was a bit of a deterrent, though. It didn't look like there was anything on it, but it didn't exactly _smell_ good. Maybe if he just wiped it o—

Ocelot didn't give him the luxury of making the choice. He gripped Eli harshly by the hair and forcefully shoved the tip of his cock against his lips.

The taste was certainly the last thing on Eli's mind when his lips parted and Ocelot plunged himself inside, nearly to the back of Eli's throat. He gagged noisily around it, nearly choking as Ocelot pulled back. Eli was so surprised that he forgot to cover his teeth, but if Ocelot cared when they grazed his shaft, he made no note of it. He just kept using Eli's mouth as a fuck toy, thrusting in and out without regard for anything but his own pleasure; Eli couldn't help it when the moisture started to run from his eyes, but he wasn't fucking _crying._ He wasn't upset or sobbing, it was just — it was so _much_ —

A bit of the frenetic urgency seemed to pass once Ocelot actually had the thing in Eli's mouth and could set a rhythmic pace. Ocelot stopped encroaching towards the back of his throat so forcefully, though his thrusts did send his cock deeper than Eli would've liked. Eli tried his best all the same, sucking at the head, massaging it with his tongue when he could manage it. He shakily braced his hands against Ocelot's thighs; Ocelot had a hand gripped tightly in his hair.

Ocelot took a while to get off. He fucked Eli's face until his jaw became sore, his cheeks hurt, the corners of his mouth felt overstretched, he was so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open — and when Ocelot did come it felt like it lasted forever, like he'd never fucking stop shooting ropes of cum over Eli's face and lips and tongue. Ocelot jerked himself off erratically through the end of his orgasm, breathing heavily and rough.

Eli completely collapsed. He fell back against the desk behind him, limp, and exhaled. His mouth hurt, his throat hurt, his ass hurt — his arms still hurt from being bound behind his back and his wrists ached.

Ocelot looked down at Eli, quiet. Eli tilted his head back, blinking the tears from his eyes; Ocelot's figure resolved in his vision, stiff and still. Ocelot had carefully forced any emotion from his face.

"Ugh," Eli sighed. "I'm all fucking sticky."

It took a moment for Ocelot to react, like he hadn't processed the words straight away. He approached Eli where he stood, and reached down to pull him up; Eli trembled unsteadily, but with Ocelot's support, he managed to stay upright.

Ocelot held the back of Eli's neck with his hand and brought his lips to Eli's mouth. Eli's eyes fluttered closed as their lips brushed together, gentle compared to their earlier urgent pace; Ocelot flicked his tongue out over Eli's bottom lip and Eli felt his knees going weak, but Ocelot's hand was at his waist.

Ocelot licked over Eli's lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. Eli opened his eyes and grimaced when Ocelot dragged his tongue in a broad stroke up the side of his face, catching the streaks of cum he'd left behind.

Eli didn't feel any less sticky and gross when Ocelot finished licking all the cum off his face. Ocelot leaned back just an inch, staring at Eli with hard eyes; Eli's first instinct was to look away, but he couldn't without being horribly conspicuous at this distance. 

Ocelot broke the stillness by pulling back to sit in the chair across from his desk — and he took Eli down along with him, into his lap again. Eli was a bit startled. Did Ocelot want to go for another round _already?_ Wasn't he too old for that?

"I've wanted this for a long time," Ocelot breathed, kissing beneath Eli's jaw. 

"I know you did," Eli snorted. His breath hitched when Ocelot's teeth grazed his throat in a gesture that was both sensuous and threatening. "What changed?"

Ocelot didn't even hesitate in his answer. "Nothing. I'm just not going to fight it anymore."

Eli felt lightheaded. The way Ocelot gazed at him with undisguised hunger didn't seem real. It made him feel powerful and excited and more than a little aroused, even so soon. Eli wasn't certain if he could even physically handle getting fucked again.

"I still don't understand why you even tried in the first place," Eli said. He reached out and flattened down the collar of Ocelot's shirt; they'd both got a little bit messed up. "You —"

Ocelot's attempt to silence Eli with a kiss was remarkably successful; Eli moaned against Ocelot's lips and went slack in his arms. "I'll stay during half-term," Ocelot said, letting his hand slip over the curve of Eli's ass. "We can go to the cabin and do anything you'd like."

Eli grinned — he could think of several things he'd very much like to try, now that he had Ocelot pliantly at his beck and call. He felt giddy and terribly, terribly pleased with himself. "Okay," he said. "That'll be good."

But for all Eli was writhing in Ocelot's lap, it didn't seem like he was really up to go again after all. "See you tomorrow," Ocelot said, low, lips close to Eli's ear, and then shoved him out of the seat.

When Eli got dressed and left Ocelot's office, he wasn't sure whether he was walking with a spring in his step or plainly obvious fucklimp. He felt terribly sore already, and he knew it was only going to get worse later — but he couldn't really find it in him to much mind.

It really hit him then that he'd _won._ It'd taken months and months and and he'd gone to ridiculous lengths but he'd done it and now — what now?

Had it all really been worth it?

_Hell fucking yes, it had._

Of course, the world couldn't just let him have his moment of triumph. The moment he walked out of the administration building, _Mary_ was waiting for him.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Eli took one look at Mary and rolled his eyes — he could already see where this was going. 

"Eli, I'd like to talk," Mary said. She had her hands clasped in front of her skirt, likely to disguise her tremble. 

"Can it wait? I'm in a bit of a hurry," Eli said. He really needed to have a shower. He felt like, well, like his entire asscrack was full of lube. Which was true. And he couldn't even tell whether or not he had any cum left on his face or in his hair. Could she not _see_ that he'd just got the life fucked out of him?

Apparently not. Mary shook her head. "It has to be right now."

Ugh. Eli figured he may as well just put the girl out of her misery — she was likely to hound him to the ends of the earth if he didn't. So he sighed and relented and followed after her as she lead him off to somewhere that they could speak without being disturbed.

Mary already looked to be on the verge of tears when she turned around and stared him down. "I came to the place you said last night and you weren't _there,_ " she said.

Clearly she was hoping that he would have an excuse, something that would explain what happened. Unfortunately for her, Eli had no intention of giving her one; he casually shrugged and said, "Change of plans."

Mary didn't even seem to know how to respond to such a careless dismissal of her obvious distress. She was clearly fighting to keep her emotions in check, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. "W-what?"

"I decided I didn't want to run away anymore."

Mary brought her hands to her mouth. "But e-everything you said last night — was that just —"

"To be perfectly honest," Eli began, "I was just trying to get close to you to make Ocelot jealous. I mean, I _thought_ about really doing it — but it finally worked, and I got what I wanted, so I don't need to do that anymore."

And there went the tears. Mary choked. "You... you used me?"

"Well, yeah. That's what people do," Eli said, smiling. "Have you not figured that out by now? It's kill or be killed, Mary. You've got to get stronger if you've any hope of making it in this world."

Mary's sobbing was ugly. Eli couldn't bear to look at her. He wrenched his eyes away and turned to leave, but he didn't make it two steps before Mary set into an unexpected outburst.

Eli was surprised by the force of her fury. She had her hands balled into fists and she angrily stomped at the ground as she yelled, "You're a monster, Eli!" 

He paused and turned back.

"You made me think that you cared about me," she cried. "You said things to me that — that no one had ever — you — I — I thought we were _friends!_ "

Eli laughed. "Why would I _ever_ want to be friends with _you?_ "

And thus Eli considered it well and done — he could wipe his hands of this girl for good. He left her there in the yard with her pathetic tears and returned to his dorm, head held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I'm finally running up on the edge of my writing buffer. I think I'm going to take a bit of a break from updating until I have chapters 25 and 26 completely worked out and finished. Probably shouldn't be longer than a week or two, and I already have 27 and 28 done so it's smooth sailing from there. See ya later!!!


	25. Borderline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, baby B)

**25 May, 1988. St. Francis.**

Half-term came, and so did Eli. A lot.

Ocelot drove Eli up to the cabin on the 23rd and things went just as Eli had expected: they spent most of their time fucking and doing little else. Eli was insatiable — he was sort of surprised that Ocelot had the stamina for it at all, ancient as he was. But he made a valiant effort, even when his dick couldn't quite keep up.

Eli was sat astride Ocelot's waist on the couch, not at all patiently waiting for Ocelot to get it up for another round. Eli could pretty consistently get another boner after 15 minutes, but Ocelot's downtime _started_ at half an hour and only lengthened as the day went on. Eli estimated that Ocelot was running up on an hour, now. Ocelot had sucked him off twice in the interim, and then asked for an actual break, but Eli was beyond ready to get fucked again.

Eli was still naked, but Ocelot had his clothes back on. They often never actually got around to the point of getting Ocelot to take anything off. Maybe the old man just liked it that way. Eli pushed up Ocelot's shirt so he could run his fingers over the contours of his abs and chest. Ocelot lay pliant with a small smile, though he released a sharp breath through his nose when Eli brushed over his nipple with a thumb. 

"You're really — _hot,_ " Eli observed.

Ocelot laughed. "You sound surprised," he said.

"It's fucking weird. It weirds me out," Eli said. He shamelessly pressed his palm to Ocelot's pec and squeezed. "With your clothes on you don't look like you've got, you know, any of this."

Ocelot reached out, gripped Eli around the back of his neck and pulled him down close. "Your cock doesn't seem to mind," he said. It was, after all, horribly hard.

Eli's fingertips were dug into the flesh of Ocelot's chest, balancing himself precariously over Ocelot's lips. "Yeah," he exhaled. Ocelot's lips parted as Eli's breath ghosted over his mouth. "I-it doesn't." God, he felt fucking stupid. This was so embarrassing. 

Ocelot pulled his hand closer just an inch and that was all it took to close the distance. Eli released a shuddering sigh as Ocelot moved beneath him, sucking Eli's bottom lip in gently between his teeth. 

Eli kissed Ocelot back earnestly. Kissing was quickly becoming Eli's favorite activity — every time he did it he felt the bottom of his stomach fill with a bizarre but pleasurable warmth, felt his chest seize and heart beat quickly inside it. Every place Ocelot's fingers touched set his skin on fire. It felt fucking gay to admit how good it made him feel. It was almost better than the sex. 

Though, given how increasingly evident Ocelot's erection was becoming, it was clear that it wouldn't be long until he was up to finally go again. Eli was beyond ready for it. He'd fuck Ocelot all day, if he'd let him. "I want you to fuck me until I break," Eli panted, breaking off to shift back and begin working at the catch of Ocelot's trousers. 

Ocelot seemed content to let him have at it. He folded his arms behind his head and watched with an amused smirk as Eli fished his cock out of his pants. Eli was having a good time of it, jacking Ocelot off, until he realized his mother was standing right in front of him, behind the arm of the couch.

Wait. 

Eli froze rod stiff, all of the color draining out of his face. Was he — was he hallucinating?

When Ocelot realized that something was wrong, he slowly tilted his head back until he, too, was looking up at where EVA stood. Oh god, she was _real._

"J-Jesus _fucking_ Christ!" Eli shouted, scrambling frantically to haul himself up off of Ocelot's body. He managed to move himself down to the other end of the couch, safely placing Ocelot between himself and his mother — he drew up his legs defensively to conceal his erection, as if she hadn't already seen _more_ than enough.

The look on EVA's face was terrifying. She didn't look angry, no — she wasn't shouting or gesticulating or attacking Ocelot. She simply stared back at Eli with a stony face, her eyes hard like flint. Her voice was quiet and imparted with little emotion when she finally spoke. "What is going on here?" Like it wasn't _fucking obvious_ already.

Ocelot had risen from his seat on the couch, though Eli imagined that couldn't have been the best way for Ocelot to orient himself in this particular circumstance — especially with how obviously EVA's eyes were trained on his crotch. He put himself away, but it didn't make it any less visible in his state. "What are you doing here?" Ocelot carefully asked.

EVA's face furrowed with confusion. "You knew I couldn't come over summer term —"

"EVA —"

"Don't," EVA said, curt. "Don't you dare make excuses for yourself, Ocelot."

"I had no intention of doing so," Ocelot said. 

Shit. Eli needed to get his fucking clothes. He jumped to his feet and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind himself. _Shit._ This was bad. He scrambled to pick up his clothing from the floor and clumsily pulled them back on. Fuck.

When he burst out of the bedroom, the situation certainly had not improved. He found Ocelot on his knees, with a gun to his head, and it sure didn't look like EVA would have any hesitation about pulling the trigger.

"Mum, wait, wait, wait," Eli said, gesticulating. "Don't —"

EVA cocked the gun and glanced over to Eli. "Don't _what?_ " she asked, icy.

"Don't — don't _shoot_ him!"

Ocelot spoke up, "Eli, go back int—"

He couldn't get the rest of the sentence out, because EVA pistol whipped him right in the side of the face, hard. Ocelot almost went crashing to the floor, but he caught himself with his arm and righted himself. "I told you not to say anything," EVA growled.

Oh, god fucking dammit. This was the absolute worst possible way this could have happened. Eli had to think of some way to defuse the situation. He approached carefully, his hands raised. "Mum, really, stop it. Don't shoot him."

EVA wasn't listening to a word Eli was saying. "I _trusted_ you," she said. Her finger was still carefully kept off the trigger, but that could change at any time. "I've worked with you for so long. For so many years. I thought we respected each other."

Ocelot wore his lesson on his face in a bright red mark. He did not speak.

"I asked you _directly_ about what was going on and you _lied_ to me," EVA said. "You looked me in the eye and you — No. You didn't _just_ lie. You made me feel like I was cruel for even thinking you were capable of the thought and yet it was so much worse than that — you're — you were already _molesting_ my son —"

Eli was within an arm's reach of his mother, now. "Mum, please, do—"

EVA turned her head to look at Eli and said, "Eli, get b—"

The moment that Eli had his mother distracted, Ocelot moved. He grabbed her arm and twisted it and had her disarmed in an instant; he cleared the slide and dropped the magazine and sent the pistol sliding across the ground. Eli scrambled backwards out of the way of the scuffle.

Of course, Eli's mother was more prepared than that. She had a second gun out as soon as Ocelot disarmed the first, and she drew it with the intention to kill — she ended up firing a bullet up into the ceiling when Ocelot deflected her aim up and away from his skull. She wrenched hard against his grasp but he ultimately overpowered her, knocking this gun from her hands too. He couldn't unload it so easily, so he had to settle for kicking it out of reach.

It was over when Ocelot got a leg around the back of her knee and forced her to the ground. Ocelot kept her pinned beneath him, restraining her arms, while she thrashed and yelled unintelligibly at him — Ocelot just looked on with a cold frown. "EVA, stop."

EVA was not content to simply give in. She fought hard, regardless of how thoroughly Ocelot had her beat. "Get — fucking — off of —"

Ocelot sighed. EVA apparently had no intention of surrendering. "Eli, there's some rope in the kitchen. Go get it."

Eli, who had hitherto been standing stunned in the center of the room, at a loss for what to do, snapped back to attention. His mother was looking up at him with fire in her eyes. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn't betray his mother — but if he didn't she was going to kill — oh, for god's fucking sake.

Eli turned and ran into the kitchen and searched the cupboards for the rope and found nothing. "It's not in here!" he shouted.

"It's in the closet!" Ocelot yelled back.

"What closet!?"

"Ugh, the pantry, whatever!"

"Why is it in there??"

"Who cares? Get it!"

Eli finally found the rope and hurried back to where Ocelot and his mother were still struggling on the ground. He tossed Ocelot the rope; Ocelot quickly caught it and set about binding EVA by the wrists and ankles until she was sufficiently restrained and he could move off of her back.

EVA writhed on the ground, spitting like a mad dog. "You bastard," she snarled. "You fucking bastard."

"EVA, calm down," Ocelot said.

And then EVA started _laughing._ "Calm down? Calm down? You want me to calm _down!_ "

"Yes. You're overreacting."

EVA rolled onto her side and let her head bang against the floor as she howled in fake amusement. "Oh my GOD! _Overreacting!_ You're fucking him, Adam!"

Ocelot crossed his arms. "Yes, well —"

Clearly, this wasn't going anywhere good. Eli decided to interrupt. "Mum, it's fine, really. He's not making me do anything I don't want to do."

That, at least, got EVA to stop thrashing so violently. She twisted on the ground to look at her son. "Eli —"

"I'm not kidding," Eli said. "In fact, it was my idea. I actually had to, like, force him to, kind of."

Ocelot nodded resolutely. "He's right."

Eli couldn't fucking believe his life. There he was, staring down at his mother hogtied on the floor, trying to convince her that his gay lover who was almost three decades older than him was actually _not_ the predator in their relationship. This was just great. He was having a great time.

EVA stared at Eli suspiciously. "Did he hypnotize you?"

" _What?_ No," Eli said. But, if Ocelot had, he wouldn't really know, would he? He looked up to Ocelot suspiciously. "Did you hypnotize me?"

Ocelot shook his head. "No, I didn't."

Eli looked back down to his mother. "No, he didn't," he repeated.

"I can't believe this," EVA muttered. She let her eyes shut and sighed. "Adam, leave the room."

EVA was hardly in a position to be handing out orders, but Ocelot seemed content to conclude that she was no longer a threat. He didn't argue; he frisked EVA for the remainder of her weapons (a few knives, another gun), collected the disarmed ones off the cabin floor, and turned and walked straight out the front door. Eli was left alone with his mother.

Eli was even more nervous and on edge like this. It wasn't like Ocelot was that great of an ally in the argument, but having to face his mother alone like this — he knew _he_ wasn't the one who had anything to be ashamed of. But still... 

EVA's demeanor softened considerably with Ocelot out of the room. She looked up at her son and managed some approximation of a smile. She looked a bit pathetic. "Eli, sweetie, come here and untie me."

Eli hesitated. "Um..."

When Eli didn't immediately do what she wanted, EVA's face cracked into a frown again. "If you untie me I'll be certain he won't hurt you again," she said.

"But... he's... he's not hurting me, mum."

"He's not in the room anymore," EVA said, her brow furrowed. "You don't have to keep protecting him, Eli."

Obviously, she didn't _want_ to understand what Eli was saying. He sighed and brought a hand to his forehead. "He's not making me say any of this. I'm not hypnotized."

Given that Eli clearly had no intention of cutting the ropes, EVA rolled back onto her stomach and started futilely trying to break free of the bonds on her own. "I've known Ocelot for a very long time, honey," she said, trying to wear a reassuring smile in-between her pained grunts as she pulled at the ropes. "I know what — ugh! — he's capable of. Even if he's made you _think_ it was your idea —"

Despite himself, Eli was actually beginning to grow aggravated. His mother was treating him like a child. "I _like_ it," he said, scrunching up his face. "He hasn't forced me to do anything. I _want_ to fuck him. And I'm not going to untie the ropes, because if I do you'll kill him, and I don't fucking want you to do that!"

EVA looked plainly disgusted. Eli couldn't help but feel a little burn of shame; he glanced away self-consciously. His mother sighed. "Eli..."

" _What?_ " Eli snapped, looking back to her angrily. "I can make my own fucking decisions. I'm fifteen, not _five._ I'm going to be legal in less than a _month!_ Do you really think a few weeks will make that big of a fucking difference?"

"Eli, whatever you think you feel for him, it's not real. Your father never —"

"I'm not my god damn fucking father," Eli spat. "It's not like I'm — like I'm in _love_ with him. We're just screwing around. It's not a big deal."

EVA finally gave her struggles a rest. She looked up at Eli, right in the eye, and said, "He's in love with _you._ "

Eli felt like he'd just been doused in a bucket of cold water. He recoiled. "W-what? No he isn't. We're not —"

"You're Big Boss's clone, Eli."

"Yeah, but that's — that's different. I'm different. I'm not Big Boss. He's said himself that I'm not —"

"Do you think he hasn't planned this from the _beginning?_ " EVA said. "Eli, you've always been his backup plan. When nothing he did could persuade your father to return his feelings, he moved onto you. Whatever he's done to convince you that it was your idea..."

Eli wasn't even sure how to react. Could all of Ocelot's protesting and reluctance really have been just a misdirection? He had a hard time imagining why Ocelot would waste his time. It... wasn't like Eli would have really cared, if Ocelot had been upfront about it.

It wasn't like he didn't _know._ It had always been kind of obvious. Eli had known that Ocelot had wanted to fuck his father for a long time — it was really sort of a foregone conclusion that he'd be attracted to Big Boss's clone, too. Of course he must've thought about it during _Les Enfants Terribles._ That wasn't a _shock._ And why would Ocelot even _bother_ going to such ridiculous lengths to manipulate Eli when he'd been willing from the very beginning? What was the point?

It occurred to him that maybe his mother didn't actually know what the fuck she was talking about. 

"No he didn't," Eli said. "You just fucking made that up. I know him well enough to know that he'd never admit that to you even if it was true."

"Eli, you don't —"

"Maybe I actually fucking know more about our relationship than someone who shows up once every three fucking months?"

EVA looked as if she'd been shocked silent. Maybe saying that hurt her. Eli couldn't much bring himself to care, right now, given how thoroughly his mother had just fucked everything up. He scowled moodily down at her, refusing to offer her any sort of remorse.

It took a moment for EVA to collect herself, but she recovered with a severe glare. "It's not a coincidence that I'm here, Eli," she said.

Eli narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "... What?"

"He knew I was coming," EVA explained. "I _told_ him I was planning to come back over half-term, because I knew I would be on an assignment this summer and wouldn't be able to come then. He brought you here knowing that I would find the two of you together."

What the fuck? Eli's mouth opened and closed. He didn't even know how to process that information. "Maybe — maybe he just _forgot_ that you were going to —"

"When has Ocelot _ever_ forgotten _anything?_ "

Now Eli was just even more confused. He didn't have the first fucking clue what Ocelot's motivations were anymore. Why would he _do_ that? Even if he had some sort of sinister plan to groom Eli into his fucking child bride, why the fuck would be have wanted EVA to find them? What could he — or anyone — possibly stand to gain from that?

"Eli, please. Just untie these ropes," EVA sighed.

Eli groaned and went back into the bedroom to find where he'd left his knife. He brought it back out into the living room, knelt down next to his mother and made quick work of cutting her free.

EVA was back on her feet in an instant. Though she was now disarmed and effectively defenseless, she wasted no time in rushing for the door of the cabin. Eli hurried along after her.

"Where did he go?" EVA asked, jogging down the steps of the porch. "Did he seriously _run away?_ "

Eli followed EVA outside, stopping by the railing of the porch. He looked over around the clearing — it looked like the car was gone. Only EVA's motorcycle remained. "I guess he did," Eli said.

"That coward!" EVA exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "I can't believe he would — no, I can believe it. God."

"What now?" Eli asked. His hands were gripped tightly on the rail. 

EVA didn't immediately answer. She stared down the path to where it disappeared into the woods, as if lost in thought — when she turned back to her son, she had a look of conviction on her face. "I'm going to track him down," she said.

Eli could guess what she was going to do when she found him. He sighed, and pushed off from the rail. "Mum..."

EVA marched right up the steps to the cabin and back through the door. "Come on. I'm taking you back to school."

"But half-term isn't even —"

"I know St. Francis stays open through half-term. It'll be fine for me to take you back now. You can move back into the dorm early."

Despite his reluctance, Eli went back inside and followed his mother's lead in gathering up his things.

 

***

 

**6 June, 1988. St. Francis.**

Eli returned for the second half of summer term, and found himself completely, utterly alone.

Ocelot was gone. He'd entirely vacated his post at St. Francis. When Eli asked around reception about the whereabouts of his "stepfather", "Adam Doe", he received nothing but vague reports that Ocelot had gone on vacation and they weren't sure when he would be returning. _He's_ your _stepfather, shouldn't you know?_

But Eli didn't know. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. Administration offered to place him with a different counselor for the time being, but Eli declined their assistance and returned to his dorm empty-handed. 

Samuel had no idea where Ocelot was, either. Eli pressed him for information, but Samuel swore that Ocelot told him nothing about where he was going, or if he'd ever be back. Eli even believed him, once he'd repeated the claim with a knife to his throat. 

Eli wanted to go after them, but where would he even start looking? He didn't have a single clue where Ocelot went, and no idea where his mother would even think to look.

He could have just left, but he had no car or any other method of transport, and the thought of leaving now without any closure to this clusterfuck of a situation was unimaginable. He _needed_ to know what Ocelot was up to — both in his mission at St. Francis in general, and what the _fuck_ he was trying to accomplish by having sex with Eli. And could Ocelot really leave, for good? Didn't he need to finish whatever it was that he started here?

Eli concluded that the most likely method by which he would see Ocelot or his mother again was to simply stay put and wait, as tortuous as that was.

The worst part of it all was that Eli didn't even have anyone he could _talk_ to about it everything that had happened. He certainly couldn't tell Samuel — he couldn't risk anything getting back to Ocelot that he didn't want to be heard. There's no telling how Samuel would even react to the ridiculous things that Eli had bottled up.

For the first time, he actually began to regret how he'd treated Mary. Even aside from the fact that keeping close to her would probably bring the likeliest chance that he'd see Ocelot again...

Sure — Eli didn't especially _like_ Mary. Her personality was grating, she was a bit of a stuck-up bitch, and her constant moralizing was an aggravating pain the ass. But she was in a truly unique position to understand — not just understand but _empathize_ — with everything that Eli faced in his life. He'd never really met anyone who could so personally relate to what it was like to be... everything that he was. That she could understand his relationship with Ocelot on top of all of that was just —

It was truly bizarre to consider that he may have made a mistake.

Whether or not he found Mary the most stimulating conversational partner didn't have much bearing on the fact that she was probably the only person in the entire world who could have even begun to comprehend everything that he'd been through — over the past few weeks, and his entire life. He felt a little stupid for completely discounting that, but he hadn't honestly thought he would ever _want_ to speak to that annoying little girl again.

"I think I fucked up," Eli remarked, after a particularly long stretch of staring up at the ceiling of his dorm.

Samuel had been trying to sleep, but dutiful as he was, he sat up to address Eli's obvious solicitation to conversation anyway. "Why?"

Eli rolled onto his side so he could see Samuel. "I, uh, tried to seduce Mary. And I think it was working. But then I got the thing I was actually trying to get by seducing Mary and thought I wouldn't need her around anymore so I told her to fuck off in a super brutal way and I think I crushed her completely, which I normally wouldn't care about, except both of our lives are kind of crazy in a really specific way that nobody else's is and I kind of want to talk to her about it now but I can't because I nuked our friendship."

Samuel looked blankly back at Eli.

"So, I need someone to go talk to her and tell her I didn't mean it and she should be my friend again," Eli concluded. "Will you do it for me?"

"No," Samuel answered.

_What?_ Eli sneered and sat up in his bed. "What do you mean, _no?_ "

"I mean no," Samuel repeated. "I can't tell her to be your friend. That's not going to do you any good."

It wasn't like Samuel to actively disobey him like this. Eli growled and began to say, "Go to —"

"Please don't command me to," Samuel immediately interjected. He looked nearly nervous. "Even if I spoke with her... it wouldn't work. You have to apologize to her yourself. If it came from me, it would just look like... like something a _coward_ would do. You're a man, aren't you?"

Eli froze in shock. "What did you just say to me?"

Despite the fact that Samuel had just incited Eli to obvious anger, he seemed visibly relieved to see it. "I said, it would look cowardly. I'm not wrong. If you do it yourself... she might see that you mean it, and forgive you."

Insulting as it was, Eli supposed Samuel wasn't... _wrong._ Eli grimaced and grumbled and looked away. "I don't even know what I would say to her," he admitted. "I've never had to... to _apologize_ for something I did before."

"... Really? Not ever in your life?"

Eli shook his head. "I've never done it and _meant_ it."

Samuel looked carefully at Eli for a time before he spoke again. "What did you say to her?" he asked.

Eli sighed and flopped back down onto his bed. "It's a long story. But basically I told her that I'd just been pretending to be her friend and that I didn't actually like her or care about her at all and I never wanted to see her again."

"... Wow."

"Yeah. So what do I do to make up for it?"

"I'm not sure you really can," Samuel said.

"Ugh. You're no fucking help."

"I'm sorry."

Eli groaned and pulled the covers up over his head. 

 

***

 

**7 June, 1988. St. Francis.**

It had been a while since Eli last climbed up the faculty tower to reach Mary's room, but the girl had made herself scarce around campus since Eli more or less completely torched her self-esteem — he had to find some way or another to get her attention, and shoving himself right in her face may as well have been his best bet. So he waited until nightfall, snuck out of the dorms and made his way up to her window.

He found her inside, sitting in front of her mirror with a brush in her hand. Her hair looked wet — Eli assumed she must have just showered. Well, it wasn't like he could really make his presence any more unwanted than it already was, so he just hazarded the risk of knocking on the glass of her door anyway.

Mary whipped around at the sudden noise, dropping her brush. The look on her face when she caught sight of Eli warped from surprised to enraged and back again, and she seemed momentarily unsure of what to do — apparently concluding that what she was wearing was not sufficiently modest for Eli's eyes (it was a perfectly normal nightgown, but he could see a bit of her calves and her arms, which was probably scandalous by her standards), she grabbed her bathrobe off where she'd thrown it across her bed, dressed herself in it and and hurried over to the balcony.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she hissed at Eli — she refused to open the glass, so her voice came out muffled.

Eli hopefully knocked on the glass again in hopes it would encourage her to open up. "Hi Mary. Wanted to talk. Let me in?"

Mary was sneering like an ape had just come into her bedroom and begun flinging shit on all of her things. "What makes you think you have the right to —"

"I can't really hear you through the glass."

Mary threw up her arms in the air and stormed away from the balcony. Apparently her tactic was to try to just ignore him and return to what she had been doing.

Well, she was going to need a lot of patience, because Eli wasn't going anywhere. He knocked on the glass again. Mary looked back for a moment, annoyed, then returned to furiously brushing her hair. Eli knocked again. She ignored him. Eli took a seat and proceeded to stare inside, his chin rested on his palms with his elbows on his knees.

Mary made a valiant effort to pretend he wasn't there, but eventually she couldn't withstand the unrelenting stares and stormed over to wrench open the door. "What do you want!?" she angrily hissed.

Eli climbed to his feet. He could already tell this was going to be an uphill battle, but he was going to try anyway. "I came here to, uh, to — say — I'm.................................. so-rry?"

Mary gawped at Eli in disbelief. The fact that he said it like he was trying to speak a foreign language probably didn't help. But it wasn't _his_ fault that apologies were for little pussy babies, a thing Eli absolutely was not in any way.

"How _dare_ you," Mary seethed, her hands balled into fists at her side. "You use me, toss me aside like garbage, and now you come here thinking that you can just start it all over again? Do you think I'm _stupid?_ "

"I'm not trying to screw with you again," Eli protested. "I'm serious! I mean it! I made a mistake —"

"What, did you get bored without someone around for you to manipulate and torment? Do you think you can just crawl back and play me the same way you did before? You're awful, Eli. I hate you. I want you to leave!"

Yikes, talk about a sore loser. Eli rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'm _trying_ to make up for what I did, but if you won't stop yelling at me I can't —"

Oh, what the fuck? She was starting to cry again. Eli couldn't even comprehend how this girl managed to cry so _constantly._ Eli hadn't cried even once since he was a little baby. "I don't want you to make up for it, Eli," she said. "I just want you to go. Leave. Please leave. I don't want to see you ever again. I don't want to speak to you. Leave! Just Go! Please!"

"No," Eli said, catching the glass of the door when Mary tried to slam it shut in his face. "I'm not gonna leave until you forgive me!"

"Well, I'm _never_ going to forgive you for what you did, so you have a problem," Mary sniffed, futilely trying to fight against Eli's strength and shut the door. "If you don't go right now, I'm going to scream — I'm going to call Joachim in here."

"What? That's stupid. Don't do that."

Mary's hands were trembling. She was trying so hard to shut the door. "I'll tell him that you tried to force yourself on me. He'll have no mercy for you. You should get out if you want to live!"

Eli sneered. "Just stop being a little baby and let me—"

"GET OUT!" Mary shrieked, as loud as she could manage.

The volume of her yelling startled Eli enough that he pulled back from the door, and Mary was able to forcefully slam it shut. He recoiled reflexively — he was going to need to get clear fast before anyone came to see what that awful sound was. "I'll be back," he promised, but Mary just turned and stomped away from the balcony.

 

***

 

**8 June, 1988. St. Francis.**

It was clear that Eli was going to need some sort of help to win Mary back over.

When Wednesday's history class let out for lunch break and all the other students rushed out of the room, Eli marched right up to Dr. Thomas's desk. "Hi Dr. Thomas," he said, as friendly as he could manage. "Want help with your shit again?"

Dr. Thomas gave Eli a withering stink eye. "What do you want, kid?"

That wasn't the best sign. Eli figured that Mary had probably told Dr. Thomas about what he'd done to her — it wouldn't be surprising if the old man hated him too. But probably less than _Mary_ hated him, so it was still worth a shot. "Look, Dr. Thomas, you've got to help me out," Eli pleaded. "I pissed off Mary."

Dr. Thomas grumbled darkly to himself as he collected his things off his desk. "So I've heard," he said.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to apologize for it but she won't listen to me at all."

"Sounds like that's a problem you've got to figure out on your own," Thomas said, stuffing papers into his bag. 

As Dr. Thomas began limping out of the classroom, Eli hurried after him. He was not going to be deterred. "Come on. Please. You know her really well, right? You must have some sort of idea about what I can say to make her forgive me."

Dr. Thomas's cane resounded loudly on the floor tiles as he slowly made his way down the hallway. "From how she tells it, I don't think there's anything in the English language you could say to make her forget what you did to her. Maybe you'd ought to come to terms with the fact that she wants nothing to do with you, son."

"I'm _trying_ to fix what I did," Eli groaned. "If you'd just help me, tell me something to say that'll convince her that I —"

Dr. Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face Eli. "Look, kid. I remember what it's like to be a terrible little shit, so I'm going to cut you some slack. But there is no trick. There are no magic words. Mary is not a _game_ that you can _play_ — she's a human being. A person with feelings. And you _hurt_ her," he said, leaning heavily on his cane. "The only thing that you can do is tell her that you are sincerely sorry for what you've done, if that's even _true_ , and then it's up to her to decide whether or not she's willing to let you back into her life. And if you apologized, and she didn't accept it, you need to respect that. Do you understand me?"

Eli froze under Dr. Thomas's scathing stare. "I — well — I'm not going to just give up," he said. "What kind of coward would I be if I didn't try everything possible?"

Dr. Thomas shook his head and turned to continue plodding on down the hallway. "Good luck, kid," he said, raising his free hand in a backwards wave. "You're going to need it."

Eli went down to have lunch and then returned to finish the rest of the day of classes. As soon as he was released he returned to his dorm. He needed to take a while to just... think. To plan. This was really no different than any other mission he'd undertaken; he needed to just step back, see the whole picture, and think about it analytically. The solution would reveal itself to him then.

He'd been sitting on his bed trying to come up with anything for about 20 minutes when Samuel arrived back from class. 

"... What are you doing?" Samuel inquired, when his return did not rouse Eli from his attempts at deep contemplation.

"I'm trying to figure out how to fix Mary," Eli explained, his eyes closed. "If I really keep at it, I'll think of something to do."

Samuel dropped off his stuff on his bed and stripped off his blazer. Samuel always wore the complete uniform, sweater vest and all, even in the middle of summer when it was fucking sweltering. Maybe he just liked to suffer. "Did you try talking to her?"

Well, apparently, Samuel was not going to leave Eli to his thoughts. Eli opened his eyes to roll them. "Yeah, I talked to her," Eli groaned. "She hollered at me and told me she hated me."

"Oh. Well."

"So? Have you got any ideas?"

"Um... have you tried writing her a note? Saying you're sorry."

Eli thought about it. "Maybe that could work," he concluded. "You know, if I say something very thoughtful. She'll think I'm, like, nice."

"Maybe not nice, but."

It couldn't fucking make things any worse. Eli hopped off his bed and set about rummaging through the piles of garbage on his floor until he fished out a notebook and a pen, and then returned to his seat. "Okay, tell me what to say," Eli commanded.

Samuel froze, looking down at Eli. "Um. I'm not sure. Something — something... remorseful."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"What did you... say to her, exactly?"

Eli shrugged. "You know, just that I'd never really cared about her and that she wasn't really my friend and that I didn't like her much at all. After I'd convinced her to run away with me."

Samuel took a seat on the edge of his own bed. "Er... well..." He rubbed his fingers through his hair. "I guess, write that you're sorry."

Eli set the notebook in his lap and began to write:

_Dear Mary,_

_I'm sorry._

"Okay, what next."

Samuel got up and moved to inspect what Eli had written down in his notebook. "Um..."

Eli turned his head to look expectantly up at Samuel, annoyed.

"Honestly. I have no idea what to say at all," Samuel admitted. He shrugged. "Maybe you should just tell her what your feelings are instead?"

"My feelings? Like... my actual ones?"

"Yeah. Like, the truth. Things that aren't lies."

"Things that aren't lies?" Eli repeated in disbelief.

"Yeah. Try... not lying."

"What? But what if she doesn't like what I actually think? Come on, I'm trying to tell her what she wants to hear."

"I think... I think that _is_ what she wants to hear. You know, the truth. Probably."

Eli looked back down to the letter in his lap. "The... _truth,_ " he marvelled. 

"Yeah. Try it?"

"Well... all right," Eli agreed.

Eli crossed out the _I'm sorry_ and began anew.

_Dear Mary,_

_~~I'm sorry.~~ Actually I'm not sure I feel that bad about it but I don't want you to be mad at me for it anymore. I know what I did was mean because I totally did it on purpose and it's true I think you're kind of annoying but you aren't really all that bad. I think I exaggerated on purpose to be more mean because I thought it was kind of funny to make you upset. And that was fine because I thought I was never going to speak to you again but then it turned out that things with ~~Oce~~ my stepfather haven't gone so great and I kind of want someone to talk to about it, and only you really get it. And even if you are kind of lame you are a lot like me. Not like in personality or anything, because I'm much cooler than you and that's a fact and I'm not sorry for being cooler than you. But I guess you can't help it, because you're a girl, and you lived in a nightmare prison your whole life and your mum is the Prime Minister and your fake dad is a weird paedophile. That sounds like it really sucked. Well, my life sucks too and we can be friends because of that even if I don't like you and you don't like me either. You don't have to like someone to be friends so I think we should be friends even if you hate me._

_Sincerely,  
Eli_

"So? What do you think?" Eli asked, shoving the letter in Samuel's face.

Samuel took the notebook in his hands and began to read the letter. He took his time, eyes slowly trailing over the paper; Eli watched as Samuel cycled through microexpressions, none of them particularly enthusiastic. 

When Samuel reached the end of the letter, he sucked a breath in through his teeth. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

Samuel offered the notebook back to Eli. "It _is_ honest."

Eli looked back down at the letter. "I knew it. There's no way this is going to make her feel better than just telling her a bunch of nice shit I made up."

"Well, she's not going to believe that stuff if you say it, because she thinks you're just a liar," Samuel said. "So maybe you need to tell her something not so nice now, so that when you say something nice later, it'll seem like you mean it and..." He trailed off. "I don't know. I'm not a very good liar."

"I guess that makes sense," Eli said. He closed the notebook and slid off his bed. "Well, I'll go give it to her and see what happens."

The only problem was, Eli had no idea where he could even leave a letter so that Mary would find it. Maybe he could leave it in the gardens, but there was no guarantee someone else wouldn't find it first. He eventually concluded that he simply needed to climb up her tower and leave it in her room.

Eli decided to do it on his lunch break — she always seemed to be in her room in the evening, so it seemed more probable he'd find it empty in the afternoon. He scaled up the international building, jumped the roofs and made his way up to Mary's tower as quickly as he could in hopes of escaping notice of anyone who happened to be moving about campus at the time.

Just as he'd expected, Mary's room was empty when he reached the balcony and carefully peered inside. Confident, he opened up the glass door and let himself in.

He couldn't help his curiosity — Eli wandered about the room, inspecting all the clutter inside of it. Her bookshelves were lined with hundreds upon hundreds of books, her closet was filled with unspeakable volumes of clothing, and assorted knickknacks strewed every surface of the room — and yet in spite of the overwhelming quantity of items inside it, it was meticulously organized, more like a museum than a mess.

Someone who'd never met Mary might have thought her to be a hoarder. But Eli knew she had always been a prisoner of sorts, and her bedroom reflected it; it really did look as if that little space were a universe unto itself, containing an entire world in miniature.

It looked nothing like Eli's room, a transitory hovel of negligence. Eli had no concern for his material possessions. He could have abandoned his dorm and everything in it and not cared in the least, because he had always lived an existence where the only thing that truly belonged to him was his own life and his own will; Mary's room was exactly what you'd expect of a person who couldn't be sure when she'd next be allowed to leave it — a person who possessed everything _but_ herself.

It wasn't as if the gravity of what he'd convinced her to do was completely lost on him. He remembered how he missed his _things_ when he first ran away, as long ago as that was — his material apathy was something he learned early on, through the force of necessity. But while they'd started out on the same road, Mary's life had taken a very different path — that she'd even _entertain_ the notion of leaving all of this behind — 

Eli was interrupted from his snooping by a startled shriek. 

"Eli!" exclaimed Mary, who was now standing in the doorway to her own room. Eli had evidently dawdled for too long.

"Oh, uh, Hi, Mary," Eli said, turning to face her. He'd been rifling through stuff on her desk, obviously. There wasn't really any way to make excuses for himself. 

Mary rushed over to insert herself between Eli and all her belongings. "What are you doing here?!" she forcefully asked. "I told you to leave me alone! Why are you touching my things?! I want you to get out, Eli!"

"I was just —" There was no getting around it. "I came here to leave you a note but I got distracted by all this stuff here."

Mary huffed indignantly. "A note?" she echoed. "What are you talking about?"

"Er. Well." Eli lifted the folded piece of paper in his hand. "I was going to leave it for you to read."

Mary gazed suspiciously at the note before she reached out. Eli instinctively pulled away, but Mary snatched it out of his hand. Eli watched Mary's face in expectant silence as she opened up the note and began to read.

Mary's mouth fell open as her eyes scanned the paper. She brought a hand to her forehead in disbelief. "Eli..."

"What?" Eli asked.

Mary threw her free hand into the air. "I don't — I don't even know how to react to this," she said. She looked back down to the letter and read, " _I'm not sure I feel that bad about it... I totally did it on purpose... I thought it was kind of funny to make you upset..._ "

Eli shrugged. "I asked my friend and he told me to be honest."

Eli was certainly not expected Mary to _burst into laughter._ "Eli," she said, bringing her hand back up to her face. "Oh my goodness, Eli..."

Was laughter a good or a bad thing? He couldn't tell. "Well? What do you say?"

Mary shook her head, and wandered over to sit herself limply down on the edge of her own bed. "I... I can't believe — you. I. This is _real?_ " she asked, holding up the letter. "This isn't another joke you're playing on me?"

"No," Eli said. "I'm telling you the truth, about what I think. The problem was that I lied last time, right? So now I'm not lying. I'm being honest."

Mary let herself fall backwards onto her bed, arms spread out over her head. She sighed heavily and lay like that, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

It didn't exactly give Eli much to go on. He crossed the room to stand in front of Mary's bed, looking down over her. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Thinking," Mary answered. "Thinking about how stupid my life is."

Eli decided to sit down next to her. "My life is stupid too. Like I said in my letter."

"Ugh. Get off my bed," Mary commanded, though she made no move to force him to do so, so he didn't listen. "I can't believe I'm so lonely that I'm actually considering it. Isn't that pathetic?"

"I don't think it's pathetic," Eli said. "I think being friends with me is a good idea because that's what I want you to do."

Mary started laughing again. At least, that's what it seemed like at first — it took Eli a minute to realize she was actually crying. Ugh. "Why are you crying?"

"Because — because —" Mary sniffled and rolled onto her side, facing away from Eli. "Because I've made a decision I can never take back and I don't know if it's the right one. I don't feel good. I don't like it here. I don't like this — I don't —"

What was she even going on about? "You can take back your decision not to be friends with me easy," Eli said. "Just be friends with me. It's fine."

Mary curled up into herself as she cried. Eli wasn't sure what else to do other than to just stare at her awkwardly as he waited for her to calm down. It took a while for her sobs to quiet down into soft sniffles and eventually silence.

"Are you okay now?" Eli asked.

Mary rolled back onto her back. Her eyes were red and her face was streaked with tears. "Yeah," she said. "I'm okay now."

"Good," Eli said. "So are we gonna be friends again or not?"

"Ugh," Mary groaned, and got up off the bed. She wandered over to the window to gaze pensively out of it. "I... don't want you to think that things are going to go back to the way that they were, just like that," she said. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me. And I won't. I won't ever forget that... how could I?"

God, she was being melodramatic. But Eli let her have it — there was no sense in pissing her off even worse than he already had. He'd won, he could tell. "Yeah, okay. So will you tell me what I should do about Ocelot and my mum?"

Mary turned around, sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "What even happened?"

"Oh, uh, a lot," Eli said. "See, the night I told you to come run away with me I actually let it slip to Ocelot what I was going to do hoping he'd show up and get mad, and he did, and then he chased me into the woods and let me touch his dick for the first time. And then the next day we actually went all the way, which was cool, and right after that was when you came to find me and I said all that shit to you. I was really in a hurry because I had a lot of lube in my arse. And also when we left together for half-term break my mother showed up kind of while we were fucking and she freaked out, and tried to kill Ocelot a little, but I stopped her, and then he ran away and I haven't seen him since. And also my mother said that he _knew_ that she was going to be there and planned it so that she'd find us together, which is really weird. Why would he _do_ that?"

"Wow," Mary responded.

"Yeah, wow," Eli said. "I don't know what to do about it. I don't know whether I should go after them or just stay put here and wait for my mother to come back or how long I should wait if I do wait."

"I... I'm not sure what to tell you, Eli..."

Eli frowned. "No one ever does."

Mary released a quiet sigh. "Well... I think trying to go after them would be pointless. If you don't know where they are, where would you even go?"

"I don't know," Eli said. "But if they've both abandoned me, what's keeping me here?"

Mary seemed to be at a loss for how to answer that. Her mouth opened and closed. "You... have friends here," she eventually said.

Eli's mouth quirked into a grin. "See. You do still like me," he said. 

Mary was caught red handed. She froze up, mortified, and averted her eyes. "I'm not — I didn't mean —" A little bit of anger passed through her. "I probably don't have much longer left here anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"What?" Eli said, narrowing his eyes. "'Don't have much longer'? What does that mean?"

Clearly, she'd said another thing she shouldn't have. "Nothing," she quickly said. "I mean — I think Joachim and I might leave soon. Go somewhere else. It's, it's time, maybe. We've been here so long that... I —"

"When? When are you leaving?"

"I — I don't know. Maybe a few months. Or sooner. The summer. We haven't decided, but —"

"I meant what I said, before. That I think you should leave him," Eli said. 

Mary shook her head. "No, Eli. I feel like a fool for letting you convince me to doubt Joachim. Whatever problems we've had, it's not — I love him. I won't abandon him, not now."

"But —"

"Don't push this," Mary said, voice forceful. "I mean it. If you try to... if you keep trying to pull Joachim and me apart, I'll — I won't hesitate to cut you off again. For good, this time."

Eli rolled his eyes. "Whatever, fine," he agreed. "That's it, then, isn't it? I'll stay until the summer, and see what happens. And then... we go our separate ways. Leave St. Francis behind."

"Yes... I suppose... we may as well make the best of this time while we can."

"Sounds good to me," Eli said.


	26. Where's The Party

**7 July, 1988. St. Francis.**

It was the second to last day before the end of the summer term. It was also Eli's birthday.

Sixteen was supposed to be some sort of special age, but Eli couldn't say that he felt particularly different. It was the same as any of his other birthdays, really — he told no one, and his mother abandoned him, so it was just another day that would pass without notice. Again.

Eli was more concerned with what he was going to do after the end of term. He had waited and waited, and still he had yet to hear a single word from Ocelot or EVA. So it was looking like he was going to be leaving on his own after all, to go god knows where. 

He had spent so much time wishing for his freedom, and when at last he was free of all impediments keeping him from it, he was reluctant to take it. Why was that?

Eli passed the morning in a malaise. School was all but over and he wouldn't be coming back, so he couldn't muster any investment in the work. Not that he ever had much to begin with. He coasted through his classes without giving much thought to any of it.

He didn't feel like eating during lunch, so he went out to just wander about in the yard — but his solitary stroll was interrupted when he saw Mary hurriedly approaching him from the direction of her tower.

Eli had been trying to keep Mary from his mind, really. For whatever reason, it didn't feel especially great to think about her, and he wasn't especially keen on starting now. It was far too late, though — there was no way to escape her, short of running full speed in the opposite direction. He stood his ground and braced for impact.

"Eli!" Mary exclaimed as she drew near. She was carrying a few paper plates, on top of which was stacked a small pink box done up with a shittily tied ribbon. Was she really...

"I made you a little cake," Mary said, looking excited. "I did it all by myself!"

Eli stopped, unsure of how to even react to this. "What? Why?" he asked, looking suspiciously down at the box in her hands.

Mary looked almost confused. "Because... well. You said today was your birthday, didn't you?" Her face fell. "Oh, oh no. Did I get the wrong day?"

"No, it _is_ my birthday," Eli said. He was startled. "I'm — surprised you even remembered." He certainly didn't remember _Mary's_ birthday.

"Of course I remembered! So, I had to get you something, and I don't have any money, so I thought this would be fine. Look!" Mary said. She pulled the hastily tied ribbon off of the box and opened the lid, revealing the cake inside. 

It looked like, well, shit. It was lopsided and messily covered in chocolate icing, leaned up against the side of the box. It also had a distinct crater in the center. Eli did his best not to sneer in disgust. "Why is it all collapsed like that?"

"Well, um, I admit I'm not the best at baking, but, well, I tried my best!" she said. "I've tasted it and it's fine, really, as long as you don't think too hard about how it _looks_..."

Eli couldn't help his grimace. "Am I going to get a disease from eating this?"

"What!? No! It's just a little mushy in the middle. But it's fine. Goodness."

Eli rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

The two of them made their way across the yard to the science building, and circled around its back to the hedge garden. When they ate together, it was normally here. It was quiet and pretty secluded, and they'd never had anyone come and bother them. They sat together on the bench at the back of the garden, and Mary used a plastic knife to clumsily cut a slice from the hideous cake. She dropped it onto one of the paper plates with a plastic fork, and handed it to Eli.

Eli took the plate and, hesitantly, tried to eat it. It was about a hundred layers of sticky chocolate, and was probably the most sickly sweet thing Eli had ever shoveled into his mouth. He wasn't sure if he liked it or if he was utterly disgusted by it. He kept going, though.

"Well, how is it?" Mary asked, eager.

"It's fine, I guess," Eli said. He shrugged.

Mary didn't seem to be especially encouraged by his response. Her expression fell and she sighed, setting her fork down onto her plate. "Is it... really that bad?" she mumbled.

Oh, for fuck's sake. "No," Eli answered, annoyed by her dramatics. "It's not _about_ the cake."

"Oh? W-what's wrong? Is something the matter?"

He wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't considered it much at all. When he spoke, the words fell out of his mouth without thought. "It's just — tomorrow is end of term," Eli said. "And we agreed that when summer break came, we would leave. So that's it. This is the end. This is the last we'll ever see of each other." He picked his fork back up and stuck it back into the cake. "Probably."

Mary didn't look too overjoyed about that either. She glanced away towards the entrance to the garden, expression melancholic. "Well. I'll see you tomorrow, too, and probably over the weekend."

"I'm probably going to leave Friday. And then after that, that's it."

Was _that_ it? Was that really what was getting him so fucking down? Was he going to... _miss_ Mary?

The thought was completely ridiculous, honestly. There wasn't much to miss about her. Even after they'd "made up", she didn't get any less annoying, sanctimonious or stuck up. He still had basically nothing in common with her. She'd served her purpose in listening to him bitch about Ocelot, so there was nothing left to really care about. It made no sense, and he was irritated with himself for it. 

Eli clammed up, and so did Mary. They ate their cake in tepid silence. Eventually, Eli stood up and concluded, "I've got to get back to class."

"Okay," Mary said, sitting sadly on the bench. She didn't know what else to say, either.

Eli turned and went.

 

***

 

Eli slowly meandered back to his dorm when classes let out for the day.

He supposed he'd better get started on packing up his things. The official move out day would be on Saturday, but he wasn't sure if he even wanted to stay that long. Maybe he'd just leave straight from his classes on Friday and walk into the woods and not come back.

Samuel was already back in the dorm by the time Eli arrived. It seemed that he'd had much of the same thought — he was working on tidying up all of his belongings, which mostly consisted of throwing them into the garbage. Samuel had even fewer valued possessions than Eli.

"Hey," Eli said, when he let himself back into the room. Samuel just acknowledged him with a glance and a nod. "What are you doing this summer?"

Samuel shrugged, stuffing an old notebook into the small garbage bag. "I'll go to stay with my mother, probably."

"Oh? In Japan?"

Samuel shrugged again.

For lack of anything better to do, Eli started picking up the trash strewn about his side of the room. He'd really made a terrible mess of the place. He found dirty socks dating back from two terms past, and some that were a little, er, crusty. He just threw those into his trash bin. 

"You should come with me instead," Eli blurted out. He wasn't even sure where it came from. "I'm going to leave St. Francis tomorrow. And I don't — I don't want to go alone."

Samuel stopped what he was doing, and so did Eli. Eli was almost anxious to hear Samuel's response. Samuel turned to face Eli, expression as unreadable as ever, and said, "Okay."

"... What, really?"

"I wouldn't mind coming with you. Over the summer. They won't care if I go with you instead."

"Wow, your parents really don't give a shit about you at all, do they?"

Samuel shrugged again. "What about Mary?"

Eli froze. "What _about_ Mary?"

"You want her to come with you too, don't you?" Samuel asked. "Have you asked if she will?"

"I — no. No, I haven't asked that. She won't," Eli answered, shaking his head. "Not now, after what I did."

"You could try asking and see if she's in a better place now, though."

Eli groaned. "It's pointless. She's not going to leave Joachim now," he said, and walked himself over to collapse on his bed. So much for cleaning.

Eli was a bit startled when his head connected with his pillow and he felt something hard beneath it.

Samuel looked over suddenly at Eli's sudden noise, and watched with interest as Eli turned and pulled his pillow off of his bed. Underneath it was a surprising sight indeed — there was a note, a roll of bills and... a _gun._

Eli immediately recognized the gun. It was the same gun that his mother tried to give him for Christmas — it felt like a lifetime ago, but Eli couldn't forget a detail of that day. He picked it up and inspected it carefully; it was definitely loaded, but the safety was on.

His hands were almost shaking with excitement when he picked up the envelope and turned it over. On the front, in a plain hand, was written his name. He hastily untucked the flap and pulled out the note, and a key came with it.

He looked from the key to the note in his hand and read. It was a short note, simply written.

_Dear Eli,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been back. It might be a while longer yet, but I promise, we'll see each other again soon. Take these, in case you need them, and stay safe._

_I love you,  
Mom_

This was the first time EVA had ever written him a letter. She'd promised to before, but never had — he felt a little giddy, holding the paper in his hands. He folded it up so looking at it wouldn't overwhelm him in front of Samuel. "My mother must've been here," he said.

"But she just left you these things and went? She didn't stay to see you?" Samuel asked.

"I guess she couldn't," Eli mumbled. He pulled the rubber band off the roll of bills and started to count them out — there was an even 1000 quid in cash. Wow.

"That's a lot of money," Samuel remarked. "What's the key for?"

Eli wasn't sure, but he had a hunch.

He got up and walked to the door, and Samuel followed him without a word. They went down the stairs of the residence and out the entrance, then circled around back to the parking lot. Eli found it waiting just where he thought it'd be.

"She left you a car?" Samuel asked.

It certainly looked to be the same old Ford Cortina that he'd seen so many times before. He approached the door and tried the key — it opened right up. He climbed inside and checked the ignition too, and that worked. "Yeah," Eli said. 

"Okay," Samuel said. "Then when we leave we can just take this. That's good."

Eli turned off the engine and got out. He wasn't sure how to feel. The excitement from getting the letter was starting to wear off and be replaced with a mild bitterness that his mother had been so close and yet didn't even take the time to _see_ him. In fact, she'd actively _avoided_ him. She'd come into his room in the morning when he was in class and left all of this, and for what? What was the purpose of the subterfuge?

But there was no sense in getting worked up about it now. At least the sense of _not knowing_ had been mitigated — he was no longer sitting and waiting for something he couldn't be sure would ever come. Now he was resolved, and his path was clear.

Eli took Samuel back up to their room, and waited for the final day to come.

 

***

 

**8 July, 1988. St. Francis.**

School was officially over.

The students had time to relax and prepare for the move out day, but Eli was eager just to be done with it all. He and Samuel quickly gathered their things — they didn't have much — and brought it all down to the car. They were all ready to go, but there was one last thing that Eli needed to do.

Eli had lost track of how many times he'd climbed up that tower. It was practically second nature to him now — he knew exactly where to go and where he would find every foothold. It didn't feel like it took any time at all.

He impatiently rapped on the balcony door to Mary's room when he didn't catch sight of her inside. It seemed that she had been reading in bed, when she hurried up to the door with her book.

"Eli," Mary said, pulling open the glass door to invite him inside. She had a melancholic look about her. "You've... come to say goodbye."

Eli shook his head and stood his ground. "No, I'm not here to say goodbye."

Mary didn't understand. She furrowed her brow and asked, "What?"

"Me and Samuel are going on a road trip and you're coming with us."

_Matter of fact. No room for dissent._ Mary brought a hand to her forehead. "Eli, we... we talked about this," she said. But Eli could tell that the decision was harder for her than she wanted to let on.

"Come on, you've got to come with us," Eli insisted. "You're leaving at the end of the summer, right? It could just be a little while, or something. Then I can bring you back here."

She heaved a dramatic sigh and let her hand drag down her face. "Eli, you know I can't just _run away._ "

"We're going to _come back._ Hell, we'd probably only be gone a week or two at most," Eli said. "What's the big deal? It's just... a little more time."

Eli was bargaining for whatever he could get, and Mary knew it. All the same, it seemed difficult for her to refuse him outright; he could tell that Mary _wanted_ to go, and it was only a matter of time before she began to cave. "I — I'd have to ask _Joachim,_ and there's —"

"What, are you _mad?_ " Eli laughed. "Of course he'd tell you you can't go. Screw him. Just come with me, right now, and you can apologize later. What is he going to do?"

"I — I don't know — Eli, you don't understand —"

"Just write him a note or something if you're worried about him calling in the royal guard. What's the worst that could happen, honestly?"

Mary reflexively laughed. "So much, Eli! So much could go wrong. Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?"

"Yeah," Eli said. "I just want you to go on a fun fucking trip with me, just for a little while, before we both leave forever and never see each other again."

Mary's face was wracked with comical conflict, but still she didn't refuse. "It... it would be so foolish of me."

"So what? So you do something dumb, and Joachim yells at you for it later, and then life goes on. Otherwise, I climb down right now and that's the last you see of me. Ever."

Eli brought Mary to her breaking point. After a while of difficult deliberation, she threw up her hands and said, "Oh, all right! Could I at least — at least _shower_ before we go?"

"We've not got time for that. What if Joachim comes in?"

"While I'm in the _shower?_ "

"I wouldn't put it past him —"

"Oh, for goodness' sake. Get out while I change, will you?"

"Dress in something to climb in," Eli said, and moved back out to the balcony.

Mary took just about forever to get ready. Eli had half a mind to barge back in to check what was taking her so long, but he figured that was probably not the wisest choices of action if he valued his life at all. Eventually, though, he heard a light tap on the glass behind him.

Eli turned to look at Mary. She looked bizarrely _normal_ in a plain t-shirt and blue jeans. The sight of her with trainers on was especially unsettling. 

Mary climbed out next to him onto the balcony. She'd brought a small bag with her, full of clothes. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"I dunno," Eli said. He wordlessly took her bag from her and began to climb down off the tower. "My mother left me a car, so me and Samuel are just going to drive. South, maybe. Might go to Manchester, or London."

Mary hesitated. "London?"

"Yeah. Are you coming down or what?"

Mary seemed to struggle with the decision, but she ultimately drew a deep breath and swung her leg over the balcony. Eli went slowly and watched her carefully as she made her shaky and unsure descent; he told her where to put her feet and hands whenever she looked lost.

The two of them managed to make it back down to the ground without getting killed, and Eli lead Mary back to where Samuel was waiting by the parked car. Eli was all ready to get going, but Mary was stunned when she spotted Samuel. She took him by the elbow and stopped him on the edge of the car park.

"Oh my goodness," Mary said. "Your friend Samuel is... _that_ Samuel?"

Eli looked to Mary in confusion. "Yeah, of course. What other Samuel did you think I was talking about? We were in rugby together," he said. "What's the big deal? What, do you hate Asians?"

Mary turned bright red. "No!! That's not at all what — oh my goodness, I'm not — you don't really think —"

"Well, what's the issue, then?"

"Um, nothing. It's just... we were, I guess, friends once. Almost. Years ago. But Joachim didn't want me around him, and so..."

Eli was certainly surprised to hear that. "Samuel actually tried to make friends with you?"

"I suppose so. I guess we had a bit in common... we were both outsiders. A sight of spectacle wherever we went. I enjoyed his company, for what little time we spent together. Joachim... well, he's just an easily threatened man."

"Well, now what Joachim thinks doesn't matter anymore. You can be friends again," Eli said.

Still, Mary hesitated to follow Eli forward. "Oh, I'm just worried about what he'll think of me now, after how Joachim treated him. He was scared."

"What, Samuel?" Eli said, turning back. "He won't give a shit. He doesn't give a shit about anything."

Though she was clearly still reluctant, Eli managed to convince her to make it the rest of the way over to the car. Samuel looked up as they approached, but didn't seem nearly so affected by seeing Mary as Mary was him.

"You convinced her," Samuel remarked. Well, Obviously.

"Yeah. Hey, you never told me you knew Mary," Eli said.

Samuel shrugged. "You never asked."

Mary looked a bit awkward. She was fiddling with her hair, unsure of what to do or say. "Hi again," she mumbled.

"Hi," Samuel said.

Eli snorted and climbed into the driver's seat. "Let's get out of here," he said, and put the key into the ignition.

 

***

 

It was still early in the evening when the three of them made it to Manchester. Eli still wasn't sure where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do — he'd have to find his mother and Ocelot eventually, but he was putting off thinking about it as long as he was still dragging Mary along with him.

But once they'd arrived, Eli was at a loss for what to do. He couldn't come up with a single enjoyable idea. He had no idea what normal girls like Mary did for fun. What did she even _like?_

"Well, we could see a movie," Samuel suggested.

It wasn't like Eli had alternatives, so he agreed to go along, and Mary didn't object either. So they drove around until they found a cinema and somewhere to safely park the car, and then they made their way into the theatre.

Inside, Eli was stricken by a similar indecision. He didn't really keep track of popular culture, so he had no clue what would be showing beforehand. All they had to go off was the list of showtimes, and the posters pinned up on the walls of the lobby.

Eli walked down the rows of movie posters, inspecting them critically. Most of what was showing at this theatre was a complete joke. Eli had no interest or time to indulge in frivolous children's media, or laughable movies for _girls._ Mary would have to _kill_ him before she could get him to watch a _romantic comedy,_ whatever the _fuck_ it was girls liked these days. Eli had no idea. Girls were impossible to comprehend.

But one really stood out from all the rest. He came to a stop as soon as he saw it, and couldn't help but stare up at wonder at the scene before him: the poster featured the New York skyline, with a tremendous giant of a man standing among the buildings. He wore a stylish black hat ringed with the fangs of dangerous wildlife, and his bushman's vest exposed the toned musculature of his arms and chest. An attractive blonde woman in a blue dress and alluring sheer tights desperately clung to his side, and he protected her with the glinting knife clutched in his free hand.

Eli connected with the image on a truly primal level. Never before had he seen a depiction of a man that more completely encapsulated the _platonic ideal_ of masculinity and strength. He felt his heart rate quicken as he gazed upon this magnificent specimen of man.

It was then that Eli knew he just had to see "Crocodile" Dundee II.

"Come here, look at this," Eli said, calling Samuel and Mary over to the poster. The two of them came to stand beside him, looking up. "This is it. This is what we're going to see." 

"Crocodile Dundee II?" Samuel read off the poster, sounding a bit skeptical.

Mary was clearly not particularly charmed by the suggestion. She crossed her arms and protested, "We can't see this. I haven't even seen Crocodile Dundee I. You can't simply watch a sequel without having first seen the original. I'm sure we'll be completely lost!"

Samuel shrugged. "The first one wasn't very complicated... I could explain what happened."

Mary and Eli both looked to Samuel in surprise. "You've actually seen it?" Eli asked.

"I like movies," Samuel answered, deadpan.

"I didn't know you liked anything," Eli said.

Samuel shrugged. "Well... the first one is about a newspaper reporter named Sue who travels to Australia to do a story on a bushman who she heard nearly lost his leg to a crocodile. He's known as 'Crocodile' Dundee, but his real name is Michael Dundee and people call him Mick. Mick takes Sue with him out into the Australian Outback and shows her how he lives, and all the things he learned from being raised with the Aborigines."

"Like how to hunt and defend himself in the wild?" Eli asked, intrigued. Eli only knew a little about what Australia was like, but he knew it had a reputation for being absolutely treacherous. Crocodile Dundee had to be really strong to be able to handle himself in that kind of environment.

"Yeah," Samuel said. "He can also sort of... charm animals. And he saves a group of kangaroos from a bunch of hooligans shooting them for fun."

"That's very noble," Mary said. Clearly, she was coming around to the idea.

"Yes. After Mick saves Sue from a crocodile attack, she starts to develop feelings for him... but she has a boyfriend back in New York."

Ugh. Now Mary's face was really lighting up. Eli rolled his eyes. "Oh my goodness," Mary exclaimed. "What happens next?"

"Sue invites Mick to come back with her to New York while she works on her story. When he gets there he's very shocked by the way people live in America. He doesn't understand their culture or know how to use the technology... he gets into a lot of trouble because he doesn't really get it, but he's able to apply his skills as a bushman to lots of unexpected scenarios, like when he needs to fend off a robbery. The more time Sue spends with Mick, the more she realizes she's attracted to him... They share a kiss, at some point."

"Oh, but she's still with her boyfriend!" Mary exclaimed.

"Sue sounds like kind of a slut," Eli snorted.

"Eli!!" Mary huffed.

"Well, eventually her boyfriend proposes and she accepts," Samuel said.

Mary brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh no! But what about Mick!?"

"Mick is upset that Sue didn't choose him so he decides he's going to on a Walkabout, which is... well, it's explained in the film better, but it's basically an Aboriginal tradition where young men will go and disappear to live in the wilderness for months, as a rite of passage. So Mick decides he's just going to go wander the continent on his own and leave Sue behind."

"Oh, but he can't! She still loves him, I'm sure of it!"

"Yeah, she realizes her mistake and calls off the engagement to go look for Mick," Samuel said. "She chases him down into the subway and there's this whole scene... you'd have to see it, I guess. The platform is so crowded that they can't reach each other, so they have to use the people between them to relay a message. Sue tells Mick that she loves him, and then the crowd helps him walk over their heads so he can reunite with Sue."

"That sounds so romantic!!" 

"Ugh. I'm going to barf," Eli said. "I don't know if I want to watch this anymore."

"Oh, we have to, now!" Mary insisted. "I want to know what happens to Mick and Sue. Do they get married and live together in New York?"

Samuel shrugged. "I haven't seen the second one. But we could watch it, I guess... I thought the first one was an okay movie."

Eli tried to turn and escape but Mary grabbed his arm. "Let's go and buy tickets! I want to see Crocodile Dundee II!" she gushed.

Girls were a mistake. Eli couldn't believe he was letting himself get roped into this. "Ugh, fine," he groaned, and allowed himself to be pulled over to the ticket counter. He forked over the cash, got their tickets and followed Samuel and Mary into the theatre.

The movie opened to show that Mick and Sue were indeed living together in New York after the events of the first film. Mick became a well known figure because of Sue's writings, notorious for his oddball behaviors.

It turned out that Sue's ex-husband got in trouble with a Colombian drug cartel while working for the DEA. He had photographs of proof that the cartel murdered someone, and he sent them to Sue in New York before he was killed. This was bad news for Mick and Sue, since it put a target on their backs.

The cartel ended up taking Sue hostage to try to get the photos back. Mary was practically vibrating through every second of the conflict. She kept leaning over to Eli to whisper her worried predictions and her hopes that Sue would come out okay, at least until the other patrons in the theatre started to hush her for her muttering. Mary fell into silence, shamed, but was no less visibly rivetted. 

Eli had to admit that he was pulled in by Crocodile Dundee's animal magnetism — and he couldn't help but personally relate to his predicament. Dundee was a fish out of water, unable to fully acclimate to the ways of city life, but he didn't let that bring him down. Dundee used his innate skill and instincts to surmount urban obstacles just as he would any beast in the wild, including the assaults of the relentless cartel.

After Mick rescued Sue back from the cartel, he decided to take her back with him to Australia. The cartel pursued them regardless, but back on Dundee's home turf, they stood no chance. Mick used the perils of the wild, his boundless wit and the help of his Aboriginal friends to confound his adversaries and bring them to their undoing. 

Towards the end, they reached a tense scene where they feared that Mick may have been fatally shot and careened off the edge of a cliff. Sue rushed to his body as he fell, both Eli and Mary on the edges of their seats — but just when it seemed that Mick had met his demise (Mary was all but weeping), one of the Aboriginal men revealed that they'd swapped Mick's clothes with one of the cartel and the dead man lying on the ground wasn't Mick at all. 

Sue turned around and saw Mick, wounded but alive. She ran to him and they embraced, and even Eli couldn't bring himself to rip his eyes away when they emotionally kissed. Mary was completely losing it. 

"You ready to go home now?" Mick asked.

"I _am_ home," said Sue, together they looked out to the future.

"That was the best movie I've ever seen!!" Mary gushed, twirling as she burst from the theatre. "Oh, I just loved it. I love Mick."

Eli managed a better effort of controlling his emotions, but he wasn't far from Mary's level of excitement. "It was fucking awesome. Dundee is so cool."

The group of them drew away from the crowd exiting the theatre — they were too wired to leave just yet. "Oh, he's so handsome," Mary swooned. "I wish I'd seen the first one. There must be some way we can see it."

"Maybe we can find it on VHS and watch it in a hotel," Eli suggested.

"Yes!! Yes, that's a wonderful idea!!" Mary exclaimed. "Let's go find a shop and buy it straight away!!"

Samuel was just sort of standing by awkwardly, relegated to his status as fourth wheel to Mary, Eli and Crocodile Dundee. He had little to say, but he went along with the rest of them when they rushed out of the cinema to find somewhere to buy the movie.

The first place they ran into was a sprawling pawn shop full of all manner of items. It was going to take a bit of wandering about before they even figured out whether or not it had a section for video tapes.

Along the way, Mary got distracted. "Oh, wait! Eli, look at this!" she said, grabbing his arm to get his attention. She pointed to a box on the shelf.

Eli turned to inspect it — it was a Polaroid camera, one of those ones that spit out the instant snapshots. Eli had heard about these. "You want to buy it?" he asked.

"Wouldn't it be nice, to have some pictures of our trip?" she asked, picking up the box. It was clearly used, from the way it was taped up, but Mary was afflicted by instant sticker shock. "Oh, no, it's too expensive..."

"Let me look at it," Eli said, taking it from her hands. He turned it over to see the price tag. "I can afford 50 pounds."

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Mary marveled. 

Eli shrugged. "My mother gave me 1000 pounds before I left. It's no big deal. It'd... it'd be nice to have some photos of you. Of us. I guess."

Mary smiled and took back the box. "Okay. Let's go find the video section!" 

The VHS tapes were kept at the back of the shop, and there was certainly a large selection to pick through. Eli dispatched Mary and Samuel to help look, but he was ultimately the one who managed to spot a copy of the original Crocodile Dundee. His chest flooded with excitement when he picked up the tape and turned it over to look at the cover of the sleeve — Mick Dundee parted the New York skyscrapers like blades of grass, smiling back with a roguish countenance that Eli had no hope of resisting.

"I found it," Eli announced, when he finally managed to rip his eyes away from Dundee's smoldering good looks. Mary rushed over in her excitement, and Samuel followed not long after.

They took the video and the camera up to the cashier and paid for their purchases. Mary was particularly eager to use the camera — she couldn't wait to pull open the box and take it out. She was fiddling with it the moment they stepped out of the shop, and it only took her a minute to set it up and figure out the controls. "Okay, let's try it!" she said, dragging Eli over and gesturing for Samuel to join them. 

Eli stood stiffly with Mary's arm around his shoulder as she turned the camera and held it at arm's length, awkwardly trying to take the picture herself with one hand. It took a while for her to figure out a grip that would make it workable — Eli flinched when the flash filled his vision.

The camera quickly fed out the photo. "Okay, the box says this should take 10 minutes to develop!" Mary said, rushing over to take a seat on a bench by the storefront of the shop.

"You're just going to sit there and stare at it the whole time?" Eli snorted.

Mary looked up, surprised, like it'd never even occurred to her to do anything else. "I've never taken a Polaroid before! I want to see how it works! And I'm really excited! Aren't you?"

Eli shrugged and went to sit beside Mary on the bench. Samuel milled out on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets as he looked out onto the street. Eli sat and impatiently stared at the blank photo — he could see only the barest hints of an image coming through. 

It _was_ actually kind of exciting to watch, once it got going. Eli stared with rapt attention as the image slowly came into focus. "That's us!!" Mary gushed, beaming with delight.

Eli couldn't help but laugh. "Samuel, you looked away right when she took the picture," he said.

"Huh?" Samuel said, looking back like he was surprised to be addressed at all. "Oh. Sorry."

"We can take plenty more!" Mary assured him. She turned to put the photo safely away into her bag. "Okay. We should go find a hotel now!"

They didn't have to go far to find one. Eli would have prefered just to sleep in the car than pay money for a cushy hotel, but he figured Mary would have difficulty roughing it, as sheltered as she was, and they needed some place with a VCR. He figured it wouldn't hurt to stay in one for just a little while. He had money enough.

Eli booked a room with two beds — Samuel agreed that it would be most proper for them to share, since Mary was a girl. The price wasn't too exorbitant, and they were going to clear out first thing in the morning anyway.

They realized only when they got into the room that they had entirely forgotten to ever _eat._ Samuel suggested that they could just get room service, and Eli and Mary agreed that that would be good enough. It'd be expensive as hell, but they didn't want to go back out — the both of them were very eager to put in the tape and get started.

The first Crocodile Dundee was even better than the second. Eli was really kicking himself for not having seen it sooner. He sat with Mary on her bed, talking animatedly through every scene — even though they knew what was going to happen, they weren't any less excited for it.

Samuel sat on his own bed, reading a book.

The room service came almost halfway through the movie and Eli almost couldn't tear himself away long enough to pause the tape and go get it, but somehow he managed. He brought the tray to their beds and he turned the movie right back on as soon as he sat back down with his food.

It seemed like the rest of the movie passed in no time at all. When the credits rolled, Eli felt like he was on the top of the world — he was keyed up and bursting with energy and no matter how late it was there was no way he was getting to sleep.

Mary flung herself onto her back on her bed and kicked her feet giddly. "Oh, that last scene! It was so romantic! I loved it!"

Not even Eli could deny his investment in Mick and Sue's love. It wasn't _so_ sappy that it made him sick — it was just a pretty woman who loved a man because he was cool and awesome. That was normal. It wasn't so bad. It wasn't lame for him to like it.

"Yeah, I was glad she told her fiance to fuck off. He was such a jerk. I hated him," Eli said. "He was just some rich stuck up bastard. I can't believe she even wasted as much time as she did on him."

"Oh, come off it. She realized in the end who really mattered."

Eli didn't even know how long they stayed up talking about Crocodile Dundee. He fell asleep next to Mary on her bed in the early hours of the morning, exhausted but happier than he'd ever been.

 

***

 

Eli awoke to the sounds of retching.

It was faint, but necessity had made Eli a light sleeper. When he listened for it again, he could tell it was coming from the washroom — the light was on inside, filtering through the crack in the open door.

Eli got up and walked over, tentatively pushing open the door. He squinted in the bright light, his eyes sensitive. "Mary?"

Mary was clearly shocked that he'd come in. "It's — it's not what it looks like," she insisted, a flustered reflexive response.

Eli furrowed his brow. Mary was sat on the washroom tile, clinging to the toilet as if she were seasick. Her skin looked sickly pale and her chin was streaked with spit and vomit. She self-consciously wiped her mouth when she followed Eli's gaze.

He had no idea what it _looked_ like. She looked sick. Obviously, if she was vomiting, she was sick. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"I'm not sick. I'm fine," she said. She pulled herself up to her feet, but her wobble betrayed her claims.

"What?" Eli didn't get it. "You've been throwing up. Was the room service you got spoiled?"

Mary straightened out the front of her skirt. "Er, no. It's just... I'm a touch pregnant, is all."

Eli's face fell blank. He stared at Mary wordlessly. She stared back, her uneasy smile threatening to crack. 

"You're... _pregnant,_ " Eli repeated.

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "I figured you'd probably ought to know. And I know what you're thinking! But I did _not_ have premarital sex, Eli."

Eli felt like his brain was about to explode out of his skull. "Sex is where babies fucking come from, Mary. Even I know that, and I'm failing biology."

Mary folded her arms over her chest indignantly. "I can't believe you of all people don't believe me. _You_ didn't come from sex."

Well, that much was true. Still, it wasn't very bloody fucking likely. "What, did _God_ do it? _Christ_ — wait, is that it? Are you pregnant with _Jesus fucking Christ,_ Mary?"

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mock my faith," Mary huffed. "Yes, I believe it was a miracle, and an act of God — just as all things that happen in His world are. He acted through _science_ to give me —"

Eli tossed his hands into the air. "I can't believe this," he said. "I seriously cannot believe this."

"Well, get used to it! Because I'm not getting un-pregnant!"

"What — how — do I even _want_ to know?"

Mary sighed and rubbed at her eyes. "I wish I could tell you everything, but I... but I really can't. If anyone knew..."

" _If anyone knew_ —"

"Hi," Samuel said, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

Eli whipped around. Samuel's eyes were bleary and his hair was a mess. Unsurprisingly, Eli's volume had probably woken him up. "Samuel!"

Samuel yawned and stretched. "Hi," he repeated. "It's five in the morning."

"Samuel, Mary is fucking pregnant," Eli spat.

Mary's eyes widened and her face turned beet red. "ELI!"

Eli looked back to her with a sneer. "What??" 

"Eli, you can't just go around telling anyone that I'm pregnant! That was _private_ —"

"Oh, for god's fucking sake, it's just Samuel. Who's he going to fucking tell?"

"That isn't the _point_ —"

"Right, the point is that you're fucking _pregnant_ and that's _fucking insane!_ " 

" _Insane?_ " Mary echoed. "If you knew what was going on you'd know that this is the _opposite_ of insane. It's what I was —"

"Fat lot of good that does me, because you won't fucking _tell_ me what's going on!"

"I _can't,_ Eli!"

"Why the fuck not!?"

"Hi," Samuel repeated. "It's _five in the morning._ "

"So fucking what!?" Eli shouted.

"I was sleeping, and now I'm not. Because you're yelling. It's five in the morning," Samuel explained.

"I'm yelling because Mary is pregnant. That's a perfectly reasonable thing to yell about."

"That's great. Can you yell when it's not five in the morning?"

Eli gesticulated wildly. "No, I can't! Because it was five in the morning when I just found out my — Sam, she says it was _immaculate conception._ Can you _believe_ this?"

"I didn't say that," Mary immediately protested. "It's a common mistake, but The Immaculate Conception refers to _the Virgin Mary's_ conception by her mother Saint Anne, _not_ the virgin birth of Je—"

"Shut the fuck up about God, Mary, Jesus Christ."

"I'm going back to bed," Samuel said, before turning and leaving them as they were.

Eli felt like the wind had gone out of his sails, and Mary didn't seem to know what else to say either. She put down the lid of the toilet and sat down on top of it. "Eli... I have to go back," she sighed, and let her head fall into her hands.

"What?"

She looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "This was a mistake, Eli. I have to go back. I don't know what I was thinking. This was so reckless. I'm not just endangering myself, I —"

"You don't have to go back at all," Eli protested. "If you stay Joachim can't do anything to you."

"Don't you get it, Eli? With the baby, I —"

Eli was beyond the point of even being able to argue with rationality. "Stay with me," he pleaded. "You're already here. Don't go back."

Mary sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. "I want to stay. But I — I can't. I was ridiculous to even come with you in the first place. It's unsafe here. Anything could happen. I need to go back to where I'm protected."

"I'll protect you," Eli swore. "It's fine if you're going to have a baby or whatever. I don't mind. We'll make do." 

"It was fun, Eli, but I have to do this. I can't keep being selfish like I have been. I'm so sorry."

It wasn't fair. Eli hated this. He didn't want her to go. He didn't want to have to take her back. Why did things have to be this way? Why couldn't he just have one fucking friend? "No. I won't take you back," Eli spat, petulant. "I'm not gonna help you go back to that monster. I'm not going to help you throw away your freedom."

Mary wasn't cowed by his aggression. "If you refuse to take me back — well, I'll leave and go get on a bus. You can't argue me out of my decision, Eli. I've made up my mind."

Eli sighed and let his gaze drift down to the floor. He felt completely defeated — there was no convincing her. What was the point of even fighting it? It just made him more depressed to have to spend the energy. "Okay," he relented. "We'll go back in the morning."

Mary nodded, and reached for a wad of toilet paper to blow her nose. She threw it in the bin when she was done. "Okay... I'll... let's get some rest, then."

 

***

 

They were back on the road by 10 the next morning. It was a dim, overcast day that looked as dismal as Eli felt.

Eli was planning to just drive a straight shot back to St. Francis, but it seemed that the fuel tank was almost empty — Eli could've sworn it was still half full when he'd last left the car. Maybe there was a leak. He didn't care enough to worry about it.

"We're going to have to stop by a petrol station," Eli sighed.

Mary didn't say anything — she wasn't in particularly high spirits either, despite the fact she could easily change her mind and stop ruining fucking everything.

"There's a station not far from here. I remember we passed it on the way in," Samuel said.

"You remember how to get there?"

"Um, maybe," Samuel said, and did his best to direct.

They made it to the station in one piece, but Eli parked the car before bringing it over to the pump. "I want to buy a fucking chocolate bar," he growled unpleasantly. Maybe he'd buy eight of them. He deluded himself into thinking it might make him feel better.

Neither Mary nor Samuel protested. They got out of the car when Eli did — Samuel stood just outside, and Mary decided to sit on the bench by the station, fiddling melancholically with her camera.

Eli sighed as he wandered up and down the confectionary aisle inside. He couldn't decide on what to buy. Maybe he'd get some Kit-Kats... Eli just ended up grabbing stuff at random. He'd eat all of it. Who cared. 

Eli dropped all of the candy on the ground when he heard Mary's shriek.

He couldn't rush out of the station fast enough. It all happened so quickly. All he caught was just the sight of Mary disappearing into the black, tinted-windowed car — Samuel was on his hands and knees in the dirt, nose and mouth streaked with blood. Eli felt his heart in his throat.

Eli was powerless to stop them. He'd left his gun in the glovebox of the car — he reflexively pulled out his knife, but fat lot of good that did him. All he could do was shout uselessly as the car peeled out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks in its wake. 

The station attendant rushed out not long after Eli. "What happened? Did you see?" the attendant demanded.

"They took her! Mary — the girl — they — kidnapped her!" 

"I'll call the police —"

"Wait, no," Eli interjected. "Go back into the station and let us use the pump first. We have to fill the tank so we can go after them —"

Samuel sat back onto his knees, wiping his dusty hands on his trousers. "They're already gone," he mumbled, staring into the distance. A small droplet of blood dripped from his chin, staining his shirt deep red.

"Shut the fuck up, Samuel! You fucking defeatist! You weak piece of shit! Who took her!? Tell me what you saw!"

Samuel's voice was small. "The car... it was a Jaguar XJ. It — it could be a Ministerial car."

"She's not even trying to hide herself," Eli spat.

Eli got into the car and brought it around to the pump. His hands were shaking as he pressed the buttons, lifted the nozzle, shoved it into the tank. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. Why did this happen? Why now? 

Eli ripped the nozzle from the tank as soon as it was done and jumped back into the driver's seat. He yelled for Samuel to get back in, and he sped off down the road the moment the key was in the ignition.


	27. Papa Don't Preach

**9 July, 1988. The Prison on the Thames.**

Mary sat on the windowsill and looked out onto the river. 

The lights were on in Parliament, and the gothic palace reflected resplendently on the dark still waters of the Thames below. Mary watched a small boat pass over the water with a sense of melancholy.

Mary hated the sound of Big Ben. She'd lived in this little flat south of the river all her life, but even now, the faintest sound of the hourly chime would fill her with anxiety. No matter what methods she tried to use to block it out, it was as if she could _feel_ the bells — she had no choice but to wait until past midnight to sleep, because the long chiming would inevitably rouse her. She could sleep through five chimes, but never a sixth.

She'd grown used to the schedule in her time in the flat, but since escaping to the north, she'd taken to an earlier routine — and now her body was cursing her for it. She wanted nothing but to sleep, but she knew there was no point until the clock struck the hour. Only 40 more minutes...

Perhaps owed to her exhaustion, Mary was startled when the door to her room suddenly opened. She stood and whipped around, and was greeted by the sight of her smiling mother.

"Good evening," said Margaret Thatcher.

Mary's face settled into a frown, but she relaxed from her shock. "Good evening, mother," she replied, with a practiced detachment — she'd had to work diligently to learn how to conceal the rage that burned inside of her when she looked upon her mother's face.

Mary's mother slowly walked about the room, as if inspecting with great interest all of the decor choices of the flat. Mary didn't understand the purpose of it — her mother was the one who determined every facet of her life, right down to the patterns of the drapes.

Her mother eventually seemed to have gotten her fill of scrutinizing the upholstery, and looked up to regard her daughter. "Have you been settling in well, my dear?"

Mary crossed her arms over her chest and turned back to look out over the river. "Yes. I'm just fine, mother," she answered.

"Come, now. Don't be petulant."

"Petulant?" Mary asked, incredulity seeping through the cracks in her facade. "Goodness, mother, I've not done anything and you're already —"

"Oh, Mary, have a rest. I know your artifice," her mother said, with a slight but mocking lift of the corner of her mouth.

Mary released her breath in a gust. There was no use in arguing with her mother. She would never win. "Is there a reason you've come?"

"Is it so strange that I'd like to see how my own daughter is doing?"

"Yes," Mary snapped.

The Prime Minister sighed and shook her head. "Come. We'll have a game," she said, and turned to leave the room.

Mary hesitated, but ultimately followed her mother out into the living room of the flat. It was an expansive space with expensive, elaborate furnishings, a grand fireplace and an antique chessboard already prepared for their use. Her mother took her place on the white side of the board. 

"Mother, I'm exhausted," Mary said, once she'd come to stand in the center of the living room. "Can we do this another time?"

"We both know you don't sleep until midnight, dear. Sit down, it'll be just a quick match."

Mary heaved a tired sigh and relented. She sat down across from her mother.

Margaret always favored the English Opening; she wordlessly began the game by moving a pawn to c4. Mary reflexively answered with a Reversed Sicilian. 

They played in rapidfire in the beginning; Margaret next moved a pawn to g3, and Mary quickly advanced knight to f6. White bishop to g2. Black pawn to c6. White knight to f3.

"You've been really quite foolish, my dear," Mary's mother said. 

Mary scrutinized the board. What had she — _oh._ She'd been so focused on the game that — 

As if reading her thoughts, Margaret said, "I'm not talking about the game, Mary."

Mary's face flushed red, and she advanced pawn to e4. Before Mary's fingers even lifted from the piece, Margaret moved knight to d4. "I think the actions I've taken have been justified in response to my position," Mary hurriedly responded. She moved pawn to d5.

Her mother scoffed theatrically, and captured Mary's pawn at d5 with her pawn from c4. "It disappoints me _deeply_ how poor you are at recognizing when you are being played." 

"Played?" Mary echoed. She took her mother's pawn at d5 with her queen. 

Margaret's knight retreated to c2. "You resent me for using you, and yet you are _blind_ to Joachim's manipulations."

"Joachim has not manipulated me. I went with him willingly," Mary snapped, and laterally moved her queen over to h5.

Margaret wore an amused smile as she moved pawn to h4. Jaw clenched, Mary advanced bishop to f5. White knight to e3. Black bishop to c5. White queen to b3. Black pawn to b6.

Mary was excellent at chess. She'd become obsessed with the game as a child; it was the only recreational activity in which Mary's mother would engage, and she developed a burning conviction that she would one day attain mastery — she poured over tapes of famous matches and every book ever _written_ about the game, practiced against herself, and challenged every aide and worker in her mother's employ. She memorized entire games and could envision the myriads of possibilities branching from every play; she was convinced that she could stand toe-to-toe with any grandmaster, had she been allowed to be seen by one.

Mary had never beaten her mother even once.

"You're still so young, Mary," her mother remarked, moving her queen to a4. "I will have understanding and forgiveness for your _naïveté,_ but it's important you come to truly comprehend what you've done."

Mary castled her king with her kingside rook, repositioning them to g8 and f8 respectively. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

Margaret advanced knight to c3. Mary moved pawn to b5. White queen retreated to c2. Mary used her bishop to capture her mother's knight at e3. Margaret was unfazed; she immediately took the bishop with her pawn from d2.

"I want you to really think about this sequence of events," Margaret intoned. When Mary moved kingside rook to e8, she advanced a pawn to a4. "You were twelve years old when Joachim began to seduce you. It's _repugnant_ —"

Mary snapped pawn to b4. "As always, you estimate me to be completely without agency," she replied. Margaret pulled her knight back to b1. 

"A twelve year old girl does not have the mental development required to make an informed decision regarding the formation of a romantic relationship with an adult man."

"I was no ordinary twelve year old girl, _mother,_ " Mary sneered. "You saw to that."

"Make your move, dear."

Mary sniffed, and moved her queenside knight to d7. Margaret mirrored with her own knight to d2. Mary advanced rook to e6.

"I do regret my own lack of foresight," Margaret admitted as she moved pawn to b3. "But even I, protective of you as I am, never envisioned that someone I trusted could be capable of something _so_ abhorrent —"

"Don't speak of him that way," Mary said. She moved rook to d8. "His intentions were good — he _loves_ me. He was not the one who suggested we run away together."

Margaret moved bishop to b2. Mary pulled hers back to g6. White knight to c4 was answered by black knight to d5; Margaret castled her queenside rook. "You imagine yourself with a mind impervious to _direction,_ Mary. I believe that _you_ believe the decision was your own, but you do not understand how he subtly manipulated you to think —"

"That isn't true, I swear it," Mary protested. She tried to disguise the tremor in her hand as she moved her knight from d7 to f6.

"You're young, and you haven't yet learned the evils of men." White bishop to h3. "In time, you'll come to understand that there is no such thing as a pure love untainted by ulterior motivation."

Mary moved her bishop to f5, and winced when her mother immediately captured it with her own bishop. Still, she retaliated by capturing the white bishop in turn with her queen. "He never touched me. He still hasn't," Mary said.

"I suspect that is merely because, to his credit, Joachim is not _actually_ a paedophile," Margaret laughed. White pawn to f3. Black pawn to h5. White bishop to d4. "He does not restrain himself out of respect for you — he is not restraining himself at all. His professed attraction to you is a _convenient lie_ that keeps you ensnared, and servile to his true purposes."

Perhaps it was just because she was so tired, but Mary felt her reactions were sluggish — her mother moved as if without hesitation, but Mary's turns began to stretch longer and longer as she struggled to formulate the best response. Had her mother become better? Had she become _worse?_

It was difficult to focus on both the game and her mother's verbal ripostes. Sweat began to bead on Mary's forehead as she fell silent. She believed in Joachim's love for her with all her heart, but the _project_ — Mary felt her mother's words burrowing under her flesh like parasites.

"I was chosen for _Triple Enfant_ because only I had the strength to withstand the volatility of a pregnancy of such a nature," Margaret said. "Even with a mere _three_ individuals contributing to your genetic makeup, our bodies warred to _destroy_ each other. Only God knows how _you_ will fare in the face of a child so abnormal."

Mary scowled. This was a story she'd heard many times before — her mother loved to remind her of what a monster she was. She finally moved her rook to d7.

"I remember when he proposed his fanciful project. If you proved capable of _surviving,_ its product would surely be the greatest supersoldier this world has ever known," Margaret idly commented, moving her king to b2.

" _Supersoldier?_ My child will not be —"

"Did he even _explain_ the nature of the child you are carrying?"

"I _know_ what it is," Mary said. She moved a rook to c7. "This is only an extension of my own engin—"

"I wonder if I can recall _the list_ myself? Hmm." White pawn to g4. "Genes harvested from Fidel and Che; Napoleon Bonaparte; Franklin D. Roosevelt; Ronald Reagan; Chairman Mao; Rasputin; Mahatma Gandhi; Nelson Mandela; Joseph Stalin; _Big Boss._ He even claimed to have access to genuine DNA from _Alexander the Great._ What man could your child become, other than a radical revolutionary meant to bring the world to its knees?"

Mary had heard some, but not all of those names. Truly, there was no way for either of them to know just how many men constituted her child, whether her mother was lying to scare her or not. 

"Joachim gave me every option to refuse the child," Mary eventually said, though her voice felt weak when she heard it come out of her mouth. She captured her mother's pawn at g4 with her pawn from h5.

"Did he? Did you ever even _attempt_ to refuse?" Margaret asked. She moved her rook from h1 to g1. "What would he have done if you had?"

"I —"

"You'll never know, because he seduced you so completely that you would willingly do _anything that he asked._ When have you _ever_ refused Joachim of something he truly wanted?"

Mary bit her lip, and moved pawn to c5. Her mother captured Mary's pawn at g4 with her pawn from f3, and Mary took the pawn with her knight from f6. "I — I — if he is so sinister, how are you to know what he truly wants?"

It didn't sound like much of a defense once it was out of her mouth.

"That is exactly it, isn't it?" Margaret said with a smile. She captured Mary's pawn at g7 with her bishop.

"I..."

Mary wiped her forehead. Black rook to g6. White queen to d2. Black rook to d7. White rook captured black knight at g4. Black rook advanced captured white rook at g4. White knight to e5. Black knight took white pawn at e3. White queen captured black rook at d7.

"Are you all right, Mary?" her mother asked. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," Mary unconvincingly answered. She took her mother's rook at d1 with her knight. Margaret immediately captured it with her queen.

They each had eight pieces left on the board, but Mary felt herself still at a disadvantage. How did her mother move with so little hesitation? She couldn't recall a single moment her mother took to think. Mary agonized over her next move, but ultimately moved rook to g3. Her mother moved queen to d6, and Mary moved up her king, capturing the bishop at g7. 

"I know you despise me, Mary," Margaret said, moving knight to d7. Mary was growing nervous, with both a queen and knight so close to her king; she was safe for now, with her own queen in position to intercept her mother's queen if she attempted to advance, but the tide could turn quickly. "But I truly do wish to keep you safe. I've always promised you more freedom when you reach adulthood, and I can trust you to exercise prudent judgments."

Mary advanced her rook to e3, nearing her mother's king. She would need to take a more aggressive approach to distract her mother from her own offensive. "How do I know _you_ aren't manipulating me, mother? How do I know you don't simply wish to use the child yourself?"

Margaret's queen retreated all the way back to h2. "Because tomorrow, I am bringing in a doctor to terminate the pregnancy."

Mary's eyes shot open wide. "W-what?"

"It's your move, Mary."

Almost unthinkingly, Mary moved her king to h7. "But — you _can't_ —"

"I can, and I will. Be sensible — in all likelihood, the pregnancy will kill you," Margaret said. She moved her knight to f8. "Check."

Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her hand was shaking as she moved her king out of check, down to h8. "I won't _murder_ my child," she said. 

Margaret advanced pawn to h5. "You won't have to — I'll have you sedated, and the procedure will be carried out without your consent. Curse me if you will." 

Midnight finally arrived.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her chest, waiting out the initial melodic chimes. Her anxiety built and built until, at last, Big Ben was struck:

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

_Boooooooooooooooong._

When the last of chimes faded into silence, Mary opened her eyes, and felt her tears run down her cheeks. She moved her queen over to d5.

Margaret moved her knight to g6. "Check."

Mary captured the knight with her pawn, freeing herself from check. Margaret played her master stroke: she took the pawn with her own from h5. The move left her queen's path from h2 to Mary's king at h8 unobstructed. Mary couldn't believe she hadn't seen it. "Check."

Mary knew it was all over. She moved her king to g7. Her mother moved her queen down to h7, right beside it. "Check."

Though the tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, Mary refused to sob. Lip trembling, she took her only remaining move: king to f6.

Margaret smiled warmly, her fingers caressing the crown of her queen. "If I move to g7, that's checkmate."

"Do it," Mary whispered.

"No."

"Why?"

"I want you to surrender to me," Margaret said.

Mary wiped the tears from her eyes, and took a long, shuddering breath. "It doesn't matter what I do," she said. "I'll never escape you, will I?"

"It's about time you learned, my dear."


	28. Pretender

Eli wasn't sure he would even remember where to go, but he took it on faith that he would find his way there. 

Eli needed to trace the path by memory, so they left the car when they arrived in London. Nothing they had to say could be risked where ears might listen, so the two boys passed through the bustling subway system in silence. Eli was invisible in the London crowds — he felt safer in the open city than he'd ever felt at St. Francis.

Wherever Eli went, Samuel followed dutifully behind. Eli brought them to the stop he remembered and lead them to surface; navigating back to the hole was a simple matter from there. While he may not have remembered every detail of the winding backroads, that smell returned to guide him.

Samuel was clearly unsettled by the stench. It was very strange to see him so affected by anything. "Eli, where are we going?"

"There's someone I think might know where we can find Mary," Eli said.

"I... it smells like death. I think there's — there's a dead body."

"Yeah, probably."

When Eli didn't stop or slow, Samuel resigned himself to following along anyway.

Eventually, the two of them reached the rusted old door at the back of the abandoned building. It looked just the same as it had the last Eli had come to see the rat, almost a year before. Truthfully, he hadn't a clue if the rotting old man would even still be there — but he confidently strode right up to the door all the same, and knocked as if he were sure of what he was doing.

They waited a long time. Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but Eli raised a hand to silence him. Eventually, they heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps up the stairs — the door opened a crack, and then closed again. Eli waited a few moments before he pulled open the door and let himself inside. 

As Eli began to descend, Samuel stood frozen at the top of the stairs. The light from the outside lit him from behind, but his face was left in shadow. "Eli, I don't want to go down there," he said.

Eli climbed back up the stairs, two at a time, and took Samuel by the hand. It was sweaty and clammy. "Come on," he said. On impulse, he reassuringly squeezed Samuel's hand, and when pulled along, the boy reluctantly descended with him.

Eli had never seen Samuel so scared before. Not even when they were _attacked_ did he seem so rattled. Eli didn't understand it. He wanted to yell at him, snap him out of it, but the dark basement hovel didn't strike Eli as a great place to shout.

Samuel jumped when the rat struck a match.

"Hmm, hmm. Back again, I see," the rat said, as he trundled about to light the candles in the basement. The fire filled the room with barely enough light for the three of them to see each other.

Eli cut right to the chase. "I need to know something," he said. When Samuel started trembling, Eli laced their fingers together.

"Of course. For what other reason would someone visit a varmint like me?" The rat smiled. "Now, then. You know the deal, boy. Secret for a secret. What will you tell me today?"

Eli glanced to his side at Samuel; even in the warmth of the candlelight, the boy looked pale. His skin was glistening with cold sweat. "Margaret Thatcher is in the Illuminati," Eli offered.

The rat scoffed and snorted and laughed, as if that were just the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Again, telling me things I already know! You think a rat like me doesn't know something like that? Honestly, who _doesn't_ know that. Goodness, you take me for a fool, boy."

"She... she has a secret daughter. Her name is Mary. She was born of some sort of _experiment._ "

"Try again, boy."

Eli was growing frustrated. "Samuel! Do you know any secrets?"

Samuel looked at Eli as if he were insane. "I... secrets?"

"Yeah. Something he wouldn't know. If we don't give the rat a secret, he can't tell us anything we want to know."

"No... I — no." Samuel's voice was trembling. "I don't... I don't think I know anything that he doesn't."

Eli looked back to the rat. He was smiling wildly, rotted teeth bared, and madness glinted in his beady eyes like sparks. Even Eli felt his stomach churn.

With an aggravated click of the tongue, Eli started just throwing things out there. "Mary Thatcher is pregnant with another weird superbaby, probably. Joachim von Verschuer is hiding at St. Francis School for Boys, up north. Margaret Thatcher just captured her daughter back. Ugh, how can you know _all_ of this already?"

The rat laughed loudly. "You've as many tries as you'd like to take, boy."

Eli wracked his brain. There had to be _something_ that the rat didn't know. In a last ditch attempt, he mumbled, "Well... um... I had sex with Ocelot?"

Samuel turned his head, his eyes wide. "Wait... what?"

Eli didn't bother to answer.

"Hmmmm." The rat's face twisted up in conflict. "Hmmmmmm..."

Did the rat want him to _sell_ it? Well, Eli would try. "You know who I'm talking about, right? You _must._ He's — he's in love with my father, but my father doesn't give a shit about him. Ocelot is desperate enough he'd even fuck his clones to get a piece of him. It makes him weak. I know I have a brother — maybe — maybe you could use him to _control_ Ocelot, or —"

"Yes, yes, that's well enough, boy," the rat said, waving his hand. "The deal was that it had to be something I didn't know, not that it had to be better than _torrid gossip._ Perhaps I'll start up my own tabloid, eh? Someone ought to run the Daily Mail out of business. Now, what would you ask of me? Pick wisely, boy."

Eli swallowed. "Where is Mary Thatcher, right now?"

"Mary Thatcher," the rat repeated.

"That's right. Don't tell me you don't know who she is."

"Hmm." The rat began to scuttle about the room, tapping at his chin. "Hmm. Hmm. No. I will say nothing of that girl," he decided.

Eli sneered in anger. He pulled his hand free of Samuel's grip incase he might need to strike the pest. "You little _insect_ — the _deal_ was —"

A gruesome smile blossomed on the rat's face. "But I _can_ tell you about a _boy._ "

Eli stopped in his tracks. "A — a _boy?_ "

"Hehehe. A boy, indeed. Perhaps even another of your _brothers,_ you might say," the rat said. He started up in a hissing laugh, almost shaking, that broke up his speech. It was as if he was bursting with excitement. "Oh, you don't know, do you?"

"Don't know — don't know what?"

The rat raised a scabbed, trembling finger, and pointed it at Samuel. Confused, Eli followed his gaze. "You, boy," the rat demanded.

Samuel seemed to shrink two sizes. "W-what?"

"Tell me your name."

"It's... it's Samuel."

"Samuel, Samuel, Samuel. Samuel Clark!"

"I —"

The rat was practically jumping up and down in excitement. " _Goodness,_ it's obvious, isn't it?" he giddily exclaimed. "I won't tell you where this _Mary Thatcher_ is. But you can, can't you, boy?"

Eli was growing worried. He looked to Samuel with wide eyes. "Samuel? What is he talking about?"

"If you seek a _rat,_ look no further," the rat said, laughing so hard there were tears in his crusted eyes. "After all, what else could you expect from the very _natural son_ of Dr. Clark?"

Something sunk like lead to the bottom of Eli's stomach as he stared Samuel in the eye. _Dr. Clark._

"Oh, child, shouldn't you have known? It's a name you've heard before," said the rat. "A tiny detail so inconsequential it escaped your notice entirely, like a whisper lost amongst the roar of a crowd. It was right in front of you the whole time, but you never thought that the answer could be hiding in such plain sight, did you? And to think — had you been listening, it would have been the only thing you'd had ever needed to hear."

Eli didn't want to believe it. Samuel had betrayed him before, with Ocelot, but he let Eli think he was simply a victim of the man's bullying — Eli knew what machinations Ocelot was capable of and thought no further of it. But to think that Samuel been with the _Patriots_ from the _beginning_ — 

He couldn't deny the evidence. So many things suddenly made sense — all the strange things about Samuel, the way he acted, why he stayed beside Eli through it all and did anything he was asked. Why else had Ocelot always known exactly where he was and what he was doing? Why else had Samuel tried to get close to Mary before Eli even arrived at St. Francis? Why else would he encourage him so intently to bring Mary along on their trip? Samuel had even brought them to the petrol station Mary was abducted at — he probably sabotaged the fuel tank to force Eli to go there. EVA probably never wrote him that letter at all — _Ocelot_ had the gun, and _Ocelot_ had the car — it was always — _fucking_ — _Samuel_ —

Samuel ran.

Spurred by unbridled anger, Eli chased after him. Samuel bolted up the stairs and out the door, and made a quick dash for the alleyways — he was fast, but Eli was so furious that nothing could have stopped him in his pursuit. 

Samuel ran and ran and Eli chased and chased. Even when they reached the populated streets, Samuel didn't slow — he bowled through the crowds of pedestrians, pushing away anyone who didn't move out of his path. The two of them created a spectacle. 

When not even the busy London streets proved to be a deterrent to Eli, Samuel veered off into oncoming traffic — he dodged out of the way of swerving, honking cars, all but throwing his life away for the chance to escape Eli.

Unfortunately for Samuel, Eli was just as fucking reckless and dumb. He pursued Samuel into the traffic without hesitation, and they'd all but created a pile-up by the time they made it across the thoroughfare. They ran through a park, past a church, down through a Tube station — Eli's lungs were torn to ribbons and his legs burned but there was no force on the Earth that could have stopped him from chasing this traitor down.

Eli finally caught him when Samuel turned into an alley and carelessly stumbled over a bit of forgotten garbage. It didn't throw him far off his pace, but it was enough — Eli managed to grab onto the back of his shirt and bring them both crashing down onto the ground. 

It was a rough tumbling fall that left Eli covered with bruises and scrapes as he skid across the pavement, but he held onto Samuel no matter how desperately the boy fought to escape. Their grappling only lasted briefly before Eli's brutality won him the upper hand; he forced Samuel beneath him and straddled him and he punched him in the face, again and again until he went weak and breathless and lost all will to resist.

Then Eli took out his gun.

"I thought we — I thought we were _friends,_ " Eli snarled. "You _lied_ to me."

"I've — I've never been a very good liar," Samuel coughed, spitting up blood.

"Bullshit! All that shit you said to me about your father — I thought we were — and all this time your mother was _Dr. Frankenstein_ —"

"I never said... anything to you that was untrue. I never said any of those things... about my father. I never pretended my mother _wasn't_ Dr. Clark. You... you invented a backstory for me all of your own. You saw in me... what you wanted to see," Samuel said. He seemed almost calm, now. His voice was quiet.

Eli furrowed his brow. "But — but, you're _Japanese_ —"

"My mother... had an affair with the husband of one of her assistants, while working on _Les Enfants Terribles,_ " Samuel said. "When I said my father doesn't know I exist, I meant it."

Eli's hand was trembling and his grip on the gun at Samuel's temple was unsteady. None of his bloodlust was behind the barrel — he didn't _want_ to kill Samuel. He _liked_ Samuel. How had it gotten this way? He should have already shot the boy between the eyes and been done with him. What was happening to him? Why couldn't he do it? Why didn't he want to? What had he _become?_

"If you're going to kill me, make it quick," Samuel pleaded.

"I should make you _beg_ for death," Eli hissed, willing his hand to still. "I should make you scream and cry and regret every breath you ever took beside me."

Samuel's eyes fluttered shut. He took a moment to draw slow and quiet breaths, and, once he'd convinced himself of the fact, whispered back, "I'm not afraid to die."

Eli looked into Samuel's face and grew so angry he couldn't stand it — not at Samuel, but at _himself._ Eli pulled back suddenly, and saw that Samuel was startled to be released; Samuel very slowly and shakily pulled himself up to sit. His face was battered and cut and smeared with blood, and already looking swollen. Eli could hardly recognize his face.

The two of them stared at each other, at an impasse. Eli was the first to speak; the only thing he could think to ask was, " _Why?_ "

"Why... what?"

"Why did you betray us? Why were you working with — with _those people?_ "

Samuel looked down at his hands, and took a time to consider his response. When he answered, his voice sound revelatory. "I'm... not sure."

Eli's face twisted into a look of incredulity. "What, then? Do you simply do whatever you're told?"

Samuel lifted his head to look into Eli's eyes. It made Eli uncomfortable, but he fought the urge to look away. "That's how she made me," he said.

"W... what?"

To Eli's relief, Samuel averted his gaze. "I can't lie, and I can't refuse an order."

Eli didn't understand. "What do you mean, you _can't?_ "

"Well... I can. But I... don't..." Samuel set his jaw, like he was struggling to find some way to articulate what he was trying to say. "I don't... _want_ to. It... it... _hurts._ "

"Then nobody is _making_ you do anything. You still have control. You can still choose your own path, even if it costs you everything."

"Maybe," Samuel answered. "But haven't you learned that nothing good ever comes of fighting them?"

" _Them?_ " Eli repeated.

"Our mothers, our fathers... the Patriots, Cipher. Fate. God." Samuel turned his head to look out of the alley. "There are always powers greater than us that demand our obedience. I've earned nothing but suffering for refusing it."

Eli sneered. "I fight. I've always fought. I'll never stop."

"To what end?" Samuel asked. He looked back to Eli with saddened eyes. "What has your struggling ever won you?"

Eli opened his mouth to retort, but a rebuke didn't easily come. What _had_ he ever accomplished? Every time he'd ever believed himself to have bested his father or Ocelot or anyone who purported to control him, he'd been swiftly proven wrong. But that wasn't really the point, was it?

"Maybe never my freedom, but my dignity," Eli answered. "My pride. My sense of an individual self. The knowledge that no matter what they said or did to me, they could never crush my will to live and overcome."

"Hmm." Samuel studied his hands. When he found no answers there, he didn't ask so much as state, "You're not going to kill me."

Eli scowled darkly and looked from Samuel to his gun. "No," he concluded. 

"Strange," is all Samuel had to say.

"You're going to come with me," Eli decided. "You're going to fight against all of the people who think they can hold your leash."

Samuel wiped away a trickle of blood that threatened to run off his chin. "Does that include you, too?"

"No. You're going to come with me because you want to."

"Do I?"

"Yes," Eli answered. Whether or not he believed it, or whether or not he was right — it didn't matter at all. He would make it true. He was going to be the kind of person Samuel would _want_ to follow.

"Well... all right," Samuel concluded, working to shakily pull himself to his feet. After a moment of unsure hesitation, Eli moved forward to offer him his hand.

Samuel seemed reluctant to take it, but he ultimately reached out for the help. He was unsteady after the beating, but with a moment to find his bearings, he came to stand back up straight.

"So you know where Mary is," Eli said.

Samuel spit blood from his mouth and then wiped it with the back of his hand again. "I... yes. The Prime Minister keeps her in an apartment complex on the Thames. But, I think... we're most likely to find Mary if we find... my mother."

"And where is _she?_ "

"We need to break into the Palace of Westminster," Samuel said.

"Oh, good fucking grief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> might be a little before I update again because finals!!


	29. Love Don't Live Here Anymore

Mary couldn't sleep. She _refused_ to sleep.

The small hours of the morning crawled past as Mary sat huddled on her bed, eyes full of tears that never quite seemed ready to fall. She stared at the window, but didn't have the focus to look through it.

They came for her at dawn. Even if she hadn't been so tired, fighting it was a futile effort — she punched and kicked and hurled any object she could reach at her assailants, but the faceless men in their riot gear effortlessly overpowered her. The four of them dragged her out of her room as she screamed, and lifted her clear off the ground when she attempted to use her own dead weight against them. One of them clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet in the lift.

Mary finally stood still, shaking as her tears were soaked up by the man's gloved hand. One of the other men swiped a card on the elevator console and keyed in the floor. Mary tried to maintain her fragile composure as the lift began its long and slow descend to the ground level. 

"You must be quiet. If you create a scene, we'll be forced to subdue you," the man at her back implored. It was Conning, she knew immediately. He had always been kind to her, but that meant little now. An order from her mother would turn any man against her.

Mary felt her heart in her throat as the doors to the elevator spread apart to reveal the lobby, the light of the sun blaring through the windows so bright she could barely keep her eyes open against it. When the hand tentatively fell away from her lips, Mary made no sound.

Defeated, she walked amongst the procession. The men guarded her at every side, and trapped her. There was no point in resisting. She followed them out onto the brightly lit street. It was warm and breezy and the sky was clear and birds filled the air with their song. The black state car parked out in front of the apartment complex loomed like a dark omen.

She climbed into the back seat when one of her captors graciously opened it for her. The men forced her into the center when they piled in on either side of her, squeezing her uncomfortably with the girth of their heavy equipment. With shaky hands, Mary buckled her seatbelt.

It was a short drive. They could've walked, had it not been for the appearances. Security allowed them to drive right up to a private entrance of the Palace of Westminster without incidence. Mary climbed back out when directed.

The men held her by both arms as they walked her into the building, but released her when they were through the doors. Mary kept her chin high. No one paid any mind to them as they passed through the maze of halls and corridors in the palace.

The men took Mary through what appeared to be a janitor's closet in the north wing, but the small room gave way to a narrow corridor leading to a hidden elevator. Crammed single file before the doors, one of the men had to input a keycode and undergo a retinal scan before they could squeeze themselves into the small carriage.

Mary stood in the center of the lift, no room to move, her hands folded primly before her. She was silently crying, she dimly realized. She watched with glassy eyes as her guard held down B and 4, and the lift lurched into motion.

It was a tortuously slow descent. Mary knew that the facility wasn't that far underground, but the lift seemed to take an eternity to reach its destination — it may as well have been taking her to Hell itself. There was little difference.

Eventually, though, the lift came to a gentle stop. The doors opened, and Mary was pushed out, the scuffed soles of the men's boots resounding loudly against the pristine white tile.

The long white hallway before them was lit by bars of sickly fluorescent lights. There was a labyrinthal compound beneath the palace, she knew, but no matter how many times she walked the halls, she never gained any ability to orient herself within it. Every section of the compound was identical and unmarked, lined with doors leading to other halls or rooms, every color and texture washed out and overexposed. Mary's eyes hurt. The door at the end of this hall stared back at her with menace, and she felt her chest seize, her throat grow tight.

She knew where they were taking her, now.

"No," she mumbled. "I don't want to go in there. Please don't... please just — just let me —"

The men had her by the arms again and they were dragging her down the hall so quickly. Their boots sounded like thunder. Mary sobbed. The door grew closer and closer until she was before it, helpless at the mercy of her damnation.

With another swipe of a keycard, the door slid open to reveal a small antechamber. It was stark white like the hall, and furnished with nothing but two plastic chairs. A door to the left of the room lead somewhere Mary couldn't guess, and the large foggy glass window right across from the entry revealed the indistinct shapes of the operating room inside. 

When Mary saw the back of the figure in the white coat through the glass, she began to scream anew. "No, no, no, no," she repeated, again and again, hysterical. "No! No! Get me away from her!"

One of the armored men grew frustrated and knocked on the glass. The woman turned from her work preparing the operating room, and sent one of her technicians out to address the problem. 

"We're going to need to tranquilize her," the man said, in a gruff voice Mary didn't recognize. Mary had once known all of the men who worked with her mother, but it'd been a long time.

The technician returned to the operating room without a word and had a brief conversation with the woman in the white coat. The doctor directed her assistant somewhere off to the side, and they disappeared out of sight; the next Mary saw of the technician was the terrifying sight of her emerging from the operating room with a readied syringe.

It took all four of the men to subdue Mary well enough for the technician to get in and inject her with the sedative. Mary started to truly panic, screaming as loudly as she could muster, but it wasn't long before her body began to betray her. Her arms went weak, and her knees buckled, and she lost track of the time.

Mary was vaguely aware of her clothing being stripped from her body. They moved her like a doll as they recovered her with a surgical gown. She was being strapped down onto the operating table. Everything felt a little bit far away. She was awake, but not _there_.

The woman in the white coat loomed close to her face. She felt so close. Mary felt like she was drowning in her eyes. Clark. That was her name. She remembered now. It's been such a long time.

No, that was Clark. "It's been such a long time," Clark said. Mary could see her warm, earnest smile even beneath her surgical mask.

Mary mumbled back unintelligibly. She wasn't sure what she'd just said. It really had been such a long time. "Please don't," she begged. Did Clark hear her? Did she understand? Did it matter if she had?

" — up in the stirrups, now." Mary's legs moved. "That's good, that's good."

"Won't hurt a bit."

"Won't feel a thing."

"Prepare the —"

"It's fine, you're fine."

"— the —"

"I'm fine? I'm fine?"

"— machine is —"

"Yes, you're just fine. Everything is just fine."

"— the blood is —"

"I'll never escape you, will I?"

"It's about time you learned, my dear."

Mary exhaled and exhaled and exhaled until all of her breath left her. She was weightless. She was empty. There was nothing left for them to take. She felt cold hands, gloves, a bright light in her eyes. "Relax, Mary." The cold bite of metal.

She heard a scream that might have been hers. It didn't matter. If she was nothing, they couldn't alter her. They couldn't break her. She wouldn't let them win. They could kill her child but once she was reduced to nothing, then she was truly free. _When I have nothing, all that's left is me._

_Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. For what happens to the children of man and what happens to the children of beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the beasts, for all is vanity. All go to one place. All are from dust, and to dust all return._

_And Mary said, my soul glorifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior._

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Mary opened her eyes.

For a moment, she was sure she was dead. Light flooded her vision and she was blind, so she prayed and thanked God, but as her other senses returned, she came to terms with her regrettable reality.

Her wrists and ankles were bound to a bed by leather straps. Everything around her was so sterile and white. When she tried to open her mouth, she found her muscles so weak. "Is anybody there?" she tried to say. She wasn't sure if anything came out. Liquid dripped, dripped, dripped into her veins. 

Dr. Clark was beside her. She had a clipboard. Her hair was neatly done, and her smile was neatly worn beneath her mask. She looked younger than she really was. Mary wondered if that, too, was the fate of her genes. 

"How are you feeling, Mary?" Dr. Clark asked. Her pen was at the ready. She sounded so concerned.

There was no one else in the room but the two of them. Of course there wasn't. There were very few people whom Dr. Clark would allow to see her face.

"My baby is dead," Mary said.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Mary hoped her notes were useful. "The procedure went smoothly. There were no complications. We should have you up and on your feet by the end of the day."

"Kill me."

Clark looked surprised. She seemed to assume that she'd merely heard Mary wrong. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Kill me," Mary repeated, more forcefully this time. "I don't want this bloody body. If you and my mother think you own it — that you may do whatever you wish — fine. Then take it. Kill me, and let my soul be free of your _torments._ "

Clark smiled. Laughed softly. Like it was _amusing._ "We aren't going to _kill_ you, Mary. Don't be silly. We only want what's best, you know that. You'll understand, one day."

Mary balled her hands into fists, strained against her bindings. "What's _best_ for —"

"When I was in New York last summer I saw this play called Steel Magnolias," Clark interjected. "It was pretty good."

Oh, God. This again. " _What?_ "

"Oh, I was just thinking about it. They're actually adapting it into a movie, you know. I'm really looking forward to it. I'll take you to see it when it's released next year. Anyway, in the play, there's this girl with diabetes..."

Mary groaned. She'd have lifted her hands to cover her face if they weren't strapped to the bed. "Doctor, please —"

Clark ignored Mary's protests. "The doctors tell her that, because of her condition, it's really dangerous for her to get pregnant... but, well, she really wants to have a child, so she decides it's worth the risk. But — I guess I'm kind of spoiling it — it turns out her body couldn't take it after all, and she passes away. It's based on a true story, actually. It's really sad."

Mary squeezed her eyes shut. She hated this. She hated Dr. Clark. She shivered with her whole body when Dr. Clark reached out her gloved hand and brushed a cold thumb over Mary's cheek. "Just imagine how your mother would feel. How we all would feel," Clark said, fond. "We don't want you to die, Shelby."

Mary felt her blood turn to ice. "My name is Mary Thatcher," she mumbled. "And you're Dr. Clark."

"Yeah, of course," Clark said. "Oh. Now that you're back, I've been meaning to introduce you to my son. Properly, I mean."

What was she even going on about now? Obviously Mary's attempt to ground her hadn't worked. "I'm really tired," she said nervously. "I just want to sleep. Please."

Dr. Clark looked down at her watch, and Mary followed her gaze. The hands on its face were still as frozen as ever. "Yes, it's important that you get plenty of rest after your operation."

Mary released a heavy breath. "Thank you."

Mary's relief was palpable when Clark rose from her seat beside Mary's bed. "I'll send someone in to check on you later," Clark said. "Be well, dear."

There was nothing left for Mary to do, other than close her eyes and wait for unconsciousness to take her.

 

***

 

Mary next woke to the sensation of the straps binding her to the bed being undone. 

The adrenaline from her fright jolted her to readiness. Her head snapped to the side to focus on the man — the boy — freeing her from her shackles. It took only a moment for her to get her bearings and place his face.

"Samuel?" Mary breathed, disbelieving. Was she seeing things? Had Clark given her something to make her hallucinate? It wouldn't be the first time.

"Keep your voice down," Samuel — or whoever, whatever he was — said. "I'm getting you out."

Mary looked frantically around the room. There was no one else with them — even the guard was gone from his post. Something about this wasn't right. "Are you — are you real?"

Samuel paused. "Yes. I am real." Then, he resumed unstrapping her ankles.

Well, that part was certainly real enough. She sat up, rubbing her wrists. "What are you doing here? I don't understand what's going on."

"I'm here alone," Samuel said. "Only I could get past security to get you. But Snake is waiting."

"Wait — wait, what?"

"Please come along with me. Quickly," Samuel insisted.

Still confused and alarmed, Mary nevertheless swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got to her feet. She was still wearing nothing but a hospital gown, but she found one of her dresses folded beside the bed. "C-can I change, first?"

"Oh. Yes," Samuel said.

Mary stared awkwardly back at Samuel until he realized he needed to turn around.

Self-conscious and embarrassed, Mary reached back and pulled loose the ties on her gown. She held it close to her chest as she picked up her dress, and didn't let the flimsy paper gown fall to the ground until she'd already had her clothing over her head. 

She still had no underwear, and no socks or shoes, for that matter, but she supposed that this was better than nothing. She turned back to Samuel and said, "Will you tell me what's going on? Why are you here?"

Samuel gestured for her to follow. She did.

"It's a long story," Samuel mumbled, talking as they walked. He opened up the door out of the small room and lead her down the corridor. "Um, I'm Dr. Clark's son, and I was planted at St. Francis to watch you years ago, but now I'm betraying my mother and getting you out. Try to keep up."

It was certainly a lot for Mary to take in. She had many questions, but this was clearly not the time to ask them. "I — I — okay," she stammered. "Where are we going?"

"Out," Samuel said. He brought her through a series of doors and hallways until they reached the lift. He pressed the button to summon the carriage. "We have to be quick. It won't be long until they check the system records, put two and two together and withdraw my security clearance."

"Um. Okay," Mary said. She felt terribly nervous, just standing out in the open like that while they waited for the elevator. "You — you said Eli was here?"

"Yes," Samuel answered. "He's nearby. We'll sneak you out the south en—"

The elevator chimed as it arrived. Mary froze, and reached out to take Samuel's hand. He squeezed her fingers. The both of them watched tensely as the doors slid open, and...

There was a man stood on the other side. Mary recognized him straight away. His name was James Terry. He was one of Dr. Clark's assistants — a nurse? Not one of the high-end ones that Clark would ever allow to see her true face, but he'd come in to do follow-up work after Mary's medical evaluations before. That was probably why he was there.

Terry was clearly as shocked to see them as Mary was to see him. He didn't immediately react to sound the alarm — which was too bad for him, because Samuel was upon him in an instant.

Samuel flung Mary into the elevator and bodily slammed the man in the carriage against the wall. Samuel had a gun pressed threateningly to his back. Terry gave a startled shout, but didn't fight. "Don't make a sound," Samuel said, reaching out to close the doors to the lift with his other hand.

"Samuel?" Terry muttered in disbelief.

"I told you not to make a sound," Samuel repeated, but there wasn't an ounce of menace to his voice. Mary didn't think he was capable of it. The gun more than carried the threat, though.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Terry asked. Evidently, he was stupid. "Is — is this some sort of — I — if you tell me what's going on I won't —"

"You know what I am. You know that I won't hesitate," Samuel said.

"Please, I just —"

The lift began to ascend. Samuel raised the gun and shot Terry in the back of the head.

Mary screamed, pressing herself into the corner of the lift. Terry crumpled to the ground, drawing a trail of blood across the wall. "Samuel!" Mary wailed.

Samuel looked back to Mary, his expression blank. "He wouldn't listen," he said. "He was going to alert someone."

"Y-you killed him," Mary sobbed, bringing her hands up to her face. "He — he's dead, you killed him —"

"I'm here to save you," Samuel said. He looked down to the gun in his hand, his grip loose. "I'm the only one who can do it. Snake — Eli — needs you. I can't fail. I can't." He shoved the gun back into the waistband of his trousers, hidden by his light jacket.

The elevator _dinged_ again as it reached its destination, and Samuel stepped forward towards Mary. Mary cowered in terror, flinched when Samuel reached out to take her hand, but she hadn't the strength to resist. She followed along after him, hand in hand. His palm was as sweaty as hers. It was hard to hold on.

Mary was terrified. "Where is Eli?" she asked, in a whisper. "Where are you taking me? Where are we going to go?"

"Act naturally," Samuel implored. "We'll escape out one of the southern entrances once we meet with Eli. We need only cross the corridor. I can get us past the guards, but only if we escape notice."

"Someone is going to catch us!"

"I'm not an unusual sight here, and no one knows of you. No one will think anything of us for a short while," Samuel said.

"I'm not wearing any shoes," Mary hissed.

Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a... visitor's badge? He handed it to Mary as they walked. Unsure of what else to do, she took it and fiddled with sticking it to the front of her dress. "He's up here, in the stairwell," Samuel said.

Mary found herself holding her breath as she followed after Samuel. He ducked around the corner into the stairwell. Just as he said, they found Eli there, lurking moodily in the shadows.

Eli's face perceptibly brightened when he caught sight of Mary. Mary felt her heart skip a beat. "Eli!" she exclaimed.

"Mary! You aren't dead," Eli astutely observed.

"Not so loud," Samuel said. A well dressed man coming down the stair gave them a bit of a strange look, but both Mary and Eli were wearing their nice official visitors' badges. No foul play there.

Once they were clear, Samuel handed his gun to Eli and took the lead again. Mary kept close behind him. There was so much she wanted to say to Eli — she kept stealing glances, and found him staring resolutely at her every time. Her face felt hot.

"We have to be quick," Samuel insisted. He kept saying that, over and over again, as he walked with purpose through the corridors linking the spacious halls of the palace. Mary was wracked with terror each time any man so much as looked at her, but Samuel's confidence and purposeful stride seemed to keep curiosity at bay. "We ought to be able to just walk out of any public entrance so long as —"

And then, it seemed, their luck was up. A droning alarm began to sound through the building, and Samuel froze in his tracks. Mary almost bumped into him. "Oh no," she whimpered, reaching out to cling to Samuel's arm.

Samuel wrenched himself free. "This way," he said, changing direction mid-course. 

"Where are we going now?" Eli demanded.

"They're locking down the building. We won't escape out the public entrances now," Samuel said. Mary heard some MP or another begin to shout that everyone was to follow him to a secure location, confirming that readily enough.

Things were quickly descending into chaos around them. MPs, staff, groups on tour hurried to and fro — it wouldn't be long until the officials began to get things under control, but for the brief moment, Samuel was able to use the disorder to his advantage. 

Mary had no sense of where they were. There had only been a handful of times that she'd been allowed to walk around the Palace of Westminster proper, and always then under the false pretense of a supervised tour. She'd seen Big Ben, seen the House of Commons, the House of Lords... but she had no mental map of the place. She was sure she'd never even been in this part of the building.

Samuel, though, clearly knew it like the back of his hand. He brought them quickly to another flight of stairs, where there was a growing group of people being lead by an authoritative man in a smart suit. Mary didn't recognize him, and he didn't take any notice of them when Samuel motioned for them to fall in step.

They followed along with the group as they were lead up the stairs. "Please, no one panic. This is doubtlessly a routine drill," the man implored. "We'll simply bunker down in the archives until given the all clear."

_Oh._ Mary knew _of_ the Record Office. The United Kingdom held hundreds of year of public archives of the Houses of Lords and Commons, all stored on the dozen-some floor of the Victoria Tower. The tower was filled with miles and miles of shelving. It certainly wouldn't be a bad place to hide, if it came to that.

There wasn't terribly much space in the room they were all herded into. There had to be three dozen people, and they were all crammed into a space that couldn't have comfortably accommodated more than twenty on a good day. They were going to be sitting ducks if anyone came looking.

"Samuel, what are we going to do?" Mary whispered, her fingers drifting to touch Samuel's arm. 

Samuel flinched reflexively and Mary pulled away. "I... I hadn't thought it through... this far. I wasn't planning on... being caught."

Mary looked to Eli for support, but he was clearly coming apart as much as she was. "We have to get _out_ of here. We can't stay in here," he hissed under his breath. "Thatcher comes looking through the groups, we're right here. She'll take us and kill us."

Mary brought her hands to her face and tried not to cry.

"There's one thing left I can try," Samuel said. "They'll have revoked my access to the security systems, but..."

"Do it," Eli said.

Samuel took a deep breath and began to part the crowd.

Mary and Eli hurried along after him as they pushed through the agitated group of people to the front, where the records administrators stood clustered in discomfort. It took a moment for Samuel to even catch their notice.

"Hi," Samuel said.

One of the archivists, a tall woman with stark white hair who looked to be in her 70s, frostily cast her gaze down on Samuel. "Yes?"

"My name is Samuel Clark. I am with the Illuminati," Samuel announced. 

Mary froze in abject horror. "Samuel!" she squeaked.

The group of three archivists looked between each other with expressions Mary couldn't parse. Shock? Disbelief? Confusion?

"Come again?" asked the woman, prim.

"I have high level security clearance. I'm the son of Doctor Clark and I work directly with her and the Prime Minister," Samuel said. He reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and withdrew his identification, presenting it to the archivist. "I'd like to go inside the archives."

Mary's best guess was that these poor blindsided women unanimously agreed that Samuel was absolutely out of his mind. There was no way any of them knew about _The Illuminati._ They actually looked like they pitied him.

The second one, a squat middle aged woman with a nasal voice, said, "Dear, we're in lockdown. We aren't to leave this room." Her tone was careful and sweet, as if she were speaking to a dog or a particularly stupid child.

"I know. But I have special clearance. I'd like to go up, please," Samuel said. 

Mary nearly jumped when Eli leaned in and whispered in her ear. "The stairs are just... right there..."

"You need an appointment to even access the records," snapped the third woman, who looked superlatively decrepit and mean. 

Samuel remained earnest and intent. "Well, I have special clearance, so —"

Mary took a deep breath, grabbed both Samuel and Eli by the wrists and bowled past the as of yet meager security to make a mad dash for the stairs.

The benefit of the lockdown was that no one in the small reading room was anticipating a group of teenagers suddenly attempting to bum rush their way up to the records. Mary was so terrified she thought she might seize up and drop dead, but she'd moved so quickly that no one could hold them.

Mary had no idea where she was running to but she flew up the steps as fast as her legs could carry her. Samuel and Eli weren't far behind, and from the sounds of the voices shouting behind them, neither was the security — surely now bolstered in number.

She was crying, now. There was no helping it. They were going to be caught. They were running up into a dead end, and even if they hid in the records it would only be a matter of time before her mother tracked her down. She was so stupid for making the run for it — maybe Samuel'd had a better plan after all, but now for sure they had alerted her mother, and they were _dead,_ all of them _dead_ —

Mary only returned to her senses when Samuel roughly grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to the side, to one of the doors to the records floors. The door wasn't locked to them, and they were able to run right in.

Eli slammed the door shut behind them. The room was in pitch black darkness. Mary groped for the light but Samuel stopped her. "Don't," Samuel said. 

"I can't see," Mary sobbed.

Mary was losing it. Eli took her by the hand and squeezed and that helped but not nearly enough to stop her from crying. She needed to stop crying, to stop making noise. They were going to find her, with how loud she was — everything, all of this, was her fault — she was going to get Eli and Samuel killed and it was all her _fault_ —

Mary lurched when Eli began to lead her along. She still couldn't see, but she struggled to get herself under control. She focused all of her energy, all of her willpower on just calming her breathing, settling her sobs. As she walked barefoot and blind through the archive, guided only by the pull of Eli's sweaty palm, she prayed to a God in which she could no longer place absolute faith. 

Eventually, they came to a stop. "Where are we?" she whispered.

"We'll hide here," Samuel said. "There are too many floors. They can't check all of them thoroughly. We can... we can try to sneak out before they call backup, and..."

"And what? What then?" Eli demanded.

Samuel wet his lips in the darkness. 

The three of them were silent.

It was only a little while until the door to the room opened and someone flicked on the lights. Mary felt blinded, but when her eyes adjusted, and she looked down to the ground...

There was a trail of blood leading right to where they were hiding.

"Shit," Eli mouthed. 

Mary brought her hand to her lips. She must've stepped on glass, or a sharp rock, or something, and now — and now — 

The sounds of hasty footsteps resounded through the room. They were closing in. They were going to be caught. Mary's knees felt weak. 

And then they gave way. Not because Mary fell — but because Eli — decided to — _pick her up_ — 

Mary gave a startled noise and was positive her face was the color of a beet and she heard the sound of footsteps stop, just for a moment, before they hurried along on their trail at a faster pace. Mary tried not to expire from the mortification when Eli followed Samuel on his rush to the exit, carrying her with him. 

"The blood just stops here," Mary heard one of their pursuers say. Not too bright, it seemed. They slipped right back out the door.

It didn't seem like carrying Mary exerted Eli much, but he put her back down on the ground when they were out in the stairwell. Mary took just a moment to check her feet — she had a bit of glass stuck in one of her heels. She picked it out, and resolved to do her best not to let the wound touch the ground again. 

But as soon as they'd begun to rush back down the steps, Mary was stopped in her tracks.

"You're certain you saw them go up into the records?" came a voice from the bottom of the stairwell. It was faint and distant now, but unmistakably belonged to Mary's mother.

"Stop!" Mary hissed. "She's here!"

Samuel and Eli stopped short and turned. "What do we do?" Eli asked, gripping tight on the railing. He'd almost gone careening down the steps in his haste to stop.

"There's only one option left," Samuel said. 

"What!?" Eli breathlessly demanded. 

Samuel was already running back up the steps. Mary followed after — it seemed it no longer mattered where her footprints might lead her captors.

They were trapped and all of them knew it. The team that had been pursuing them before spotted them on their own way back down the steps, but Samuel lead them into a sharp dash into the next records room before any of the guard could grab Mary.

Eli and Samuel slammed the door shut behind them and shoved their bodies against it, preventing the shouting men from forcing it open. Mary staggered back from the door, her heart beating so hard she couldn't hear herself think.

It seemed like a futile effort, trying to hold the door closed. It was only a matter of time before Eli and Samuel were overpowered — they were straining with all their strength.

But suddenly they stopped. And it was soon clear the reason why.

"Step aside," said Margaret Thatcher, her voice authoritative and like ice. "Return to your posts."

One of the men began to object. "Ma'am, they're —"

"I will take this from here, without your assistance," said Mary's mother.

The men stepped away from the door. Samuel and Eli, both sweating, looked between each other and listened as the men stomped their way back down the stairs. All of them knew that the door would not hold against the wrath of the Prime Minister.

"Mary, please open the door, my dear. I'd rather not resort to extreme measures."

She wasn't making any move to break it down. Eli and Samuel reluctantly stepped away. "Hide," Samuel whispered. 

Eli had Mary by the wrist and was pulling her along with him into the stacks. She tried to remember to keep her cut heel off the ground. This room wasn't so dark as the last — there was a line of windows on the far end, letting in the dim evening light.

Mary realized they'd lost track of Samuel when she and Eli huddled hidden behind the end of a long shelf. "Where did he go?" Mary whispered, looking around frantically.

The both of them froze together when they heard the sound of the door slowly slide open.

Margaret Thatcher took her first steps into the room, the heels of her shoes clicking against the floor. "Mary, do come here. It's not safe for you to be out and about so soon after your procedure."

Eli's grip on Mary's shoulders tightened. 

"I don't want to have to force you, darling. If you come with me now, on your own, I'll even let your little friends go," Margaret offered.

" _Don't,_ " Eli muttered under his breath, looking Mary sharply in her eyes.

Mary wanted to surrender. She didn't have the strength to do this. She was afraid and tired and her legs hurt, her feet hurt, her chest hurt from the weight of everything bearing down upon her. She didn't want to ruin Eli and Samuel too, like her mother had ruined her. But the way Eli stared her down, with all the fire and conviction in the world — 

She kept still. She kept silent.

The Prime Minister clicked her tongue. "Suit yourself," she said, and began her hunt.

The sound of her steps made no secret of where Margaret was, and she did not move in anything approaching a hurry. She walked calmly down along a shelf, and Eli and Mary stood at the end of it trembling from exertion and fear.

"I know you're there, dear. Just come now and —"

Mary jumped at the sudden sound of her mother colliding heavily with the shelves.

Just had Margaret had neared the end of the shelf, Samuel burst from around the corner where he'd hid and set himself upon her. He threw both their weights in full force against the record shelves and they strained, tipped, and finally, came crashing down in a disastrous chain reaction.

Eli and Mary managed to dash out of the way as the archives went flying. The felled shelf tipped over the next beside it, and then the next, sounding a series of deafening crashes throughout the room. And in the center of it all was Samuel, clambered astride Mary's mother in the wreckage, assailing her with a flurry of unrestrained punches.

He looked utterly mad like that, his teeth bared — he meant to kill, Mary was sure of it.

She couldn't make much sense of what she was seeing in the commotion. At first Margaret seemed outmatched by the force of Samuel's savagery, but then she raised her hand, holding something in it, or — Mary couldn't see anything but the burst of flame that engulfed their figures.

And like that everything devolved into utter chaos. The records were ablaze. Mary couldn't see, and Eli was pulling her along with him again. Thick smoke swiftly filled the room. It was so heavy Mary could hardly breathe.

They lost track of Samuel again, but it wasn't long before Margaret Thatcher was back on their trail. She was no longer playing a game. Mary saw her behind them, dark in the smoke and wreathed in frame, advancing far faster than any human should.

Eli looked between Mary and her mother and made a split second decision. Mary barely knew what was happening when he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw his body against the window of the tower.

The glass shattered spectacularly upon impact. The shards rained Mary's body and left her lacerated with deep cuts, but surely none nearly so bad as what Eli suffered from taking the direct blunt of the crash. The both of them tumbled out in a rough impact, skidding along the rooftop. Eli never loosened his grip for a second.

Mary returned to her senses atop him, shielded from the worst of the fall in spite of her innumerable scrapes and cuts. "Eli! Are you okay!?" she cried, scrambling to displace her weight from his body. He looked like he took a really hard fall on the shoulder, but he was pulling himself back up almost immediately. 

Mary looked up to see her mother framed by the shattered glass of the window, edges misted with blood. The _Iron Lady_ looked down upon them with a cold countenance, but her hand — her hand, missing, replaced by a mechanical barrel — smoked with the threat of inferno.

Mary tried her best to help Eli up but he was clearly in pain. Her mother jumped from the window and landed with effortless grace in the center of the roof, unconcerned for the shower of glass beneath her priceless shoes. Eli fumbled for his gun, his footing uneasy. Mary took a step back, and then another, hands trembling by her chest. 

Eli fired two rounds into Margaret Thatcher's heart as she stepped forward, but she didn't so much as _flinch_. It was as if the bullets passed right through her like a ghost. She smiled with a practiced darkness, and let them stew in their terror as she made her slow approach.

Mary knew there was no use in reasoning with her mother, but she had to try anyway. "Mother!" she shouted, stumbling back. Her feet were certainly cut by more glass, but her whole body was in such pain that her soles seemed like the least of her problems. "I am my own person, Mother! You cannot hold me like this!" A deep breath. "You won't take us alive!"

Mary was shocked by her own bravery, but it seemed her mother had little pretense of humanity left to receive her words. Margaret raised her arm again, and the metal implement shifted, reconfigured into something more suited for her next task: ruthless execution.

"Eli!" Mary shouted. 

She didn't even think about it — she rushed forward, with no regard for the glass, and flung herself in front of Eli, arms outstretched. 

Her mother stopped. 

"I won't let you hurt him," Mary said, hoping her voice sounded even half as sure as she felt. 

Eli clearly was not pleased with this arrangement, but he was so weak and unsteady that he had little capacity to resist her attempt at self-sacrifice. He staggered behind her, trying to load his gun to fire again — 

And then Samuel burst from the smoke, skid across the roof and threw himself onto her mother's back. Eli's priorities were certainly in order. "When did you take my knife!?" he shouted, his face contorted in anger.

Samuel shrugged, and began to saw off Margaret Thatcher's head.

The knife made it halfway through her neck before Margaret managed to regain leverage and kick the boy off of her. It didn't seem like half a decapitation slowed her down one bit.

Samuel practically sailed through the air when thrown, colliding nosily with the side of the tower. He collapsed in the pile of glass, lain out on his stomach. He wasn't moving. "Samuel!" Mary called out, but Eli grabbed her wrist before she could rush to his aid. 

It had to be a miracle that Eli could stand at all, but he managed to break into a run. Mary was terrified, with no idea what he was planning or where he was going. She glanced over her shoulder as they dashed down the length of the roof to see her mother clambering to her feet, her neck spraying sparks. 

Mary didn't see what the point of running was. There was nowhere for them to go. Was he going to crash through the window of another tower and try to make a run for the exit? Or —

Mary screamed when Eli dragged her down with him in a plummet off the roof.

Mary held onto Eli for her life, and didn't dare look. Their entangled bodies collided with the fabric of the dining tents set up over the terrace below. The weight threatened to bring the whole structure down, but Eli fell into it in a roll, pulling Mary along over the edge.

They dropped into the dark water of the Thames below with a splash.


	30. Love Makes The World Go Round

"We want a room. Please," Eli said.

The man at the front desk of the small hotel Eli and Mary stumbled into looked down at the two of them with a shocked expression.

Eli and Mary were both drenched, dripping, and covered in bruises, cuts and scrapes. They leaned on each other heavily, clearly beaten and exhausted. All Eli could hope was that the receptionist wouldn't think their appearance cause to call the police.

"A-are you all right?" the man asked, clearly unsettled. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"What? No," Eli said, annoyed. All pretense of politeness immediately fell away. "We just want a fucking room. Can you book us one or not?"

"You look like you need medical att—"

"We just want to sleep, sir," Mary said, dragging a hand down her face. "Please."

"We have money," Eli said, fishing out his waterlogged roll of bills. He threw them down on the counter.

The man's mouth opened and closed, and then he checked them into a room.

When Eli got Mary into their shitty little hotel room and closed the door, it was the closest he'd gotten to relaxing in days. He wasn't sure if he'd even slept since Mary was captured. He hadn't felt that tired during the rush of it all, but the moment he laid eyes upon the bed, he was just about ready to drop dead.

But he couldn't sleep just yet. Eli brought Mary into the washroom, took one of the hotel towels and proceeded to check over her injuries. He picked out bits of glass from her cuts, and cleaned out her wounds with mild soap and water. Her dress was shredded and covered in bloodstains, but it was all she had. They'd have to make do.

Mary insisted on returning the favor, in spite of Eli's protests. He refused to consent to a bath, but he did let her help pop his dislocated arm back into its socket. Given that it was already so painful he wasn't expecting to be as mind-rendingly excruciating as it was, and it didn't help that Mary was incredibly timid about it. 

They were both completely exhausted, and immediately collapsed into bed after that. They needed to escape London, but they couldn't manage anything as tired as they were — they had no choice but to take the risk of resting. Eli fell onto his stomach and closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly. 

Eli slept dreamlessly and fitfully. He jerked awake in the middle of the night with a full bladder, and staggered out of bed blind to the toilet. He pissed in the tub because he didn't have the coordination to aim.

By the time that he stumbled back out into the hotel bedroom, his eyes were adjusted well enough to the dark light to see that Ocelot was sat in a chair in the corner of the room. 

Eli jumped in surprise, nearly falling clear off his feet, but he managed to keep from making any noise loud enough to wake Mary. "Ocelot!" he hissed, eyes wide, fumbling for the gun he'd kept stuffed into the waistband of his trousers. 

Ocelot raised a gloved hand to motion for Eli to stop, and against his better judgment, Eli stilled his grip on his gun. Ocelot then looked pointedly to Mary, asleep on the hotel bed, and beckoned Eli closer. 

Eli was still horribly sleep deprived, exhausted, and just about going out of his mind with anger. He stalked forward to stand before Ocelot, still sat leisurely in his scratchily upholstered chair. Ocelot looked up to him with that same smug insufferable fucking grin he always wore, barely illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering in between the blinds, not a hint of contrition.

Eli had no idea where to even begin to quantify the array of emotions he was experiencing. It had been _weeks_ since he'd last seen or heard from Ocelot, and he had so many questions, so many things he wanted to _yell_ in this abominable bastard's face. He felt like he was boiling over, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. " _Why are you here?_ "

Ocelot was unaffected by Eli's clearly telegraphed disdain. He rose from his seat, stepping forward uncomfortably into Eli's space — Eli felt his face grow hot and he stumbled back what little distance he could take. "Shall we go somewhere we can talk? Maybe down the hall?" Ocelot suggested, glancing again to where Mary was passed out on the bed.

"I'm not leaving her," Eli snapped.

Ocelot sighed, but seemed to know it wasn't an argument he would win. He instead brushed past Eli to let himself into the washroom, and Eli reluctantly followed after. He wouldn't let Ocelot shut the door all the way, though.

"I'm sure you expect many answers from me," Ocelot said.

Eli responded by trying to punch Ocelot in the face.

Of course, even if Eli hadn't been exhausted and beaten and covered in an innumerable quantity of injuries, he wouldn't have stood a chance against Ocelot's reflexes. Ocelot had Eli's arm twisted behind his back and his chest pressed up against the bathroom sink before Eli knew what had happened — his shoulder seared in agony, but he refused to show weakness. He grit his teeth as Ocelot loomed close, a smirk against his neck. "I'm afraid we don't have time for _that,_ Eli," Ocelot practically purred.

Eli fucking hated Ocelot. In spite of the pain, he wrenched himself free of Ocelot's grasp and put a comfortable distance between them. He couldn't help but rub the sore joint of his shoulder. "Keep the fuck away from me," he sneered. 

Ocelot shifted his stance and folded his arms across his chest. "I understand you have reason to be upset, but I don't need to remind you of everything that is at stake right now."

"No, you don't," Eli said. He composed himself, but maintained his hateful glare. "Where have you been? Why did you leave? Why are you here now? How did you find me? What are you going to do wi—"

Ocelot raised his hand. "Slow down," he said. "I'm here to get you out."

"What?" Eli said, disbelieving. " _Get me out?_ I'm not stupid. You liar. You fucking liar. I _know_ you're working with _Dr. Clark_ — with _Margaret Thatcher_ —"

"No," Ocelot interrupted, mouth curled into a small but knowing smile. "I am loyal to only one man."

Eli rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe that my _father_ told you to save me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

"I am telling you the very simple fact which defines all of my decisions as an active agent in this world," Ocelot said, wry. "I am, honestly, the most predictable man you will ever meet."

Eli wet his dry lips. Even now, Ocelot was utterly inscrutable to him. "Just cut the crap. I just — I just want to understand..." He fumbled. " _You._ "

Ocelot seemed amused by that. "Understand me? I'm really not so complicated," he laughed. "Whatever alliances I may have formed serve no purpose other than that which serves Big Boss."

"Then tell me," Eli demanded. "How does what you did with me _serve Big Boss?_ "

Ocelot didn't immediately answer. Looked caught — like Eli had tripped him up, shown him a blemish in his self-image. He even averted his eyes and touched a hand to his face as he glanced into the mirror. Eli followed his gaze until he was staring at the both of them in the reflective surface. "It didn't," Ocelot eventually concluded.

"... That's it? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"Yep," Ocelot said. 

It may well have been a revelation for both of them.

Eli sighed, brought his hands up over his eyes and dragged them down his face. He was so tired. He didn't even have the energy to process this right now, even if he knew it was going to leave him raw later. They may never address everything that happened between them. "What about my mother? She was going to kill you." 

Ocelot carefully picked his words. He still seemed to prefer looking anywhere but directly at Eli, now. "We came to an... understanding."

"She knows you're here?" Eli asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes," Ocelot answered. "She may be mad at me now, but she knows that I am the only one who can help you."

" _Help_ me? You're working with the _enemy._ "

"I was working with Dr. Clark, yes. She requested my help with an ongoing operation, since her agent wasn't able to procure results on his own."

"Samuel."

"Oh. So you know about that."

"Yeah," Eli said. "Why was he even still there, if he failed at his job?"

"I requested that he stay, and work as my agent in monitoring _you._ Easier job. I'd only intended to keep you around to babysit, honestly," Ocelot remarked. He suddenly became preoccupied with the fake marble on the washroom sink top, tracing his fingers over it absently. "I didn't _want_ to use you. But in the end you didn't give me a choice — you accomplished my mission _for_ me."

"What _was_ your mission? I still don't understand."

Ocelot shrugged. It seemed he no longer had a reason to lie. "I was to shatter Mary Thatcher's trust in Joachim von Verschuer completely, and then return her to her mother in a state in which she would never think to rebel again," he said. "Just retrieving her from St. Francis would have been simple for any of Thatcher's agents. But Thatcher wanted her to be broken, first." 

That made Eli very, very angry. He balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. "You complete bastard," he growled. "That was why you wanted my mother to find us together? So that she'd keep after you over the summer, and Samuel could lead us right into Thatcher's trap?"

"It's regrettable," Ocelot said, shaking his head. "Believe me, I tried to keep you out of it. But you had entrenched yourself so effectively with her — it reached a point where I would have been an idiot to not take advantage. As for the _rest_ , well..." He absently drummed his fingers against the top of the sink. "It was incidental."

"I fucking hate you," Eli snapped. "You're fucking horrible."

Ocelot looked unaffected by Eli's ire. "If you'd listened to me, it never would have come to this," he said, raising his eyebrows. "But whatever interest I have in your well-being, I had a job, and it needed to be done."

Eli snorted. "And now you want me to believe that you're really here to help me."

"Dr. Clark and I have been friends for a very long time, you know. It's important that I maintain relations with her and whatever other people of note I can, to keep his net of influence strong," Ocelot said. "But it is work that I do not out of any sense of loyalty. I'll bend or break our terms when it suits me. When it suits his world, and his vision."

It was difficult not to be suspicious of a man as elusive and duplicitous as Ocelot. Even his show of honesty was likely a deception — Eli had absolutely no doubt of that. The only trouble was sussing out which part of it was the lie. 

But for all of Eli's fury, and the voice in his head instructing him very sternly to tell Ocelot to fuck off, they obviously needed help from _somebody._ So against his better judgment, he was considering it. "Why are you here?" Eli carefully asked. "Why haven't you just taken us back to Thatcher already?"

"Because I don't want to."

Eli stared blankly back at Ocelot.

"I've already completed my mission. What I do now is of no concern to to those women," Ocelot dryly elaborated. "I've decided that I am going to help you instead."

"I don't believe you."

"What about this is so hard for you to believe?" Ocelot asked.

"I don't see — I don't see what you gain from it," Eli said.

Ocelot's face gently fell into a frown. "You are Big Boss's legacy. If I don't help you now, you will die. I cannot explain it to you any more simply than that."

"And Mary?" Eli said. "I won't leave her. I won't let you take her back to Thatcher."

Ocelot went quiet, carefully studying Eli's face. Eli grew self-conscious under his scrutinizing gaze — he couldn't help but break eye contact. Eventually, Ocelot said, "You want her, don't you?"

Eli was taken aback by his _phrasing._ What was that supposed to mean? "S-she's my friend," he awkwardly stammered. "She deserves to be free. We all do. I don't — I won't let her be taken back by her mother, or Joachim, or whoever else wants to control her."

"Then she won't be," Ocelot said. "It's no trouble to me. Take her along with you."

"But — you're going to betray Clark and Thatcher, just like that? That won't compromise your ' _relations_ '?" 

Ocelot shrugged. "I've done my part. They won't blame me for her loss now."

"And what happened to Samuel?"

"I don't know," Ocelot answered.

"He turned against his mother to help me and Mary. He fought Thatcher and —"

"Listen, Eli. I can't give you everything," Ocelot said. It seemed he was done with humoring Eli's objections. "I'll drive you up to Scotland this morning, and you'll take passage on a ferry to Iceland. In a few days, your mother will join you and take you the rest of the way to America."

"America?" Eli repeated. He was born there, but he remembered little of it — even contemplating the prospect of traveling there was daunting. "My mother?"

Ocelot's tone turned clipped. "We agreed I'm no longer suited to be your guardian, and you are no longer safe in this country."

Eli felt his heart skip a beat. Was his mother really going to stay with him? If Ocelot wasn't going to watch over him anymore, it had to be her, right? But when Eli next opened his mouth, he was interrupted a startled noise from behind him.

Evidently, Eli and Ocelot had woken Mary up with their conversation. She stood in the door to the bathroom with wide eyes, frozen in shock. "C-counselor!"

Mary looked ready to run. Ocelot quickly assumed a defensive stance, his hands raised to show he was unarmed. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt you," he said.

Eli grumbled under his breath. "He claims he wants to help us," he said. 

Mary allowed herself to lower her guard, though she was obviously still skeptical. "Um. Why?"

Ocelot sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, I just went through all of this."

"He says he was working with your mother before, but now he wants to betray her, I guess," Eli said.

Well, Mary clearly looked like she thought that sounded like a load of shit. But as she considered it, she seemed to conclude that it would be best to defer to Eli's judgment — they really were desperate, weren't they? "Do — do you believe him?" she nervously asked.

"I don't know," Eli said, looking pointedly at Ocelot. "How do I know we can trust you?"

"Here. I'll prove it," Ocelot said.

Eli and Mary both watched intently as Ocelot slowly shifted one of his hands — no sudden movements — to retrieve a small device from his pocket. Eli couldn't make any sense of its purpose visually, but it had a couple of antennas and a slowly blinking red light at its top. "I'm the only reason you haven't already been caught," Ocelot said. "Thatcher is tracking you, and I'm jamming the transmitter. I've been following you since you pulled yourselves out of the river. If I leave, Thatcher will know your location immediately."

Mary brought her hands up to cover her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she mumbled.

"Come here, Mary," Ocelot said. "I'll get it out."

Mary looked to Eli for direction, and after considering it briefly, he nodded. Mary very reluctantly stepped forward into the washroom. She flinched back when Ocelot took out a knife, but he assured her gently that she had nothing to fear. She turned around when instructed, and stood rod stiff as Ocelot began to carefully palpate her upper arm.

It took him a while of searching to find it. Eli had entirely missed it when he'd looked Mary over earlier. "This will hurt. I'm sorry," Ocelot warned, but didn't give Mary time to react before he slit open her skin with his knife.

Mary yelped in pain, but Ocelot held her steady. It only took a few seconds for Ocelot to extract the device — he held up the tiny pill-shaped object between his forefinger and thumb under the light when he had it out. Eli and Mary both gawked at it in awe.

Then Ocelot placed it on the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. "Are you satisfied?"

Mary and Eli looked between each other. Well, what other option did they really have? The chances of them making it on their own were slim, and they both knew it. "O... okay," Eli reluctantly agreed. "Are we leaving now?"

Ocelot shook his head as he took a bit of tissue and used it to wipe the blood off Mary's cut. He put pressure over the wound to stymy the bleeding. "No," he said. "With the transmitter out, you'll be safe for a while. Get some sleep. I'll be back in the morning to drive you out."

Eli and Mary both breathed a sigh in relief at once. They really needed to rest. "All right," Eli said.

Eli crawled back into bed when Ocelot left them alone, and hoped that he wouldn't discover he'd made another stupid fucking decision when he next woke.

 

***

 

Ocelot returned to wake them the next morning, just as he'd promised, and brought with him everything they'd need. He brought bandages and antiseptic and stitches and went over each of them, properly tending to their injuries — he'd bought more clothes for them to wear, too, which was certainly a relief. Mary's dress was almost as torn up as the soles of her feet, and Eli was practically limping around in rags. They ate a shitty breakfast from the hotel's customary offerings.

They were all up and ready to leave by 8 AM, and Eli was surprised by how rested he felt. He was still sore all over, certainly, but he didn't feel like a staggering corpse any longer. With any luck, they'd be in Iceland within the next few days, and free of the fear, too. 

It seemed that Ocelot managed to retrieve the old Ford from where Eli had dumped it in the middle of London — had a set of spare keys and kept a close enough eye on Eli to find it, apparently. Ocelot piled Eli and Mary into it — Eli decided to sit in the back with Mary, leaving the front seat conspicuously open. Ocelot didn't comment. 

"How long is it going to take to drive to where the boat is?" Eli asked as Ocelot gently pulled into the street level traffic. 

"Probably about 14 or 15 hours, depending on how often we stop," Ocelot answered.

Mary released a heavy sigh, and Eli let his head fall back against the seat. It was certainly going to be a long trip — made even longer by the poor company.

They spent the first half hour or so in dead silence. It was awkward, to say the least. Eli would've rather spent the entire journey like that than talk to Ocelot, but Mary seemed intent on filling the time. 

"So... um... would either of you mind telling me some things? About what's going on?" Mary asked. "I think I've missed out..."

"Certainly," Ocelot answered. Eli felt a shot of irritation at how personable Ocelot was being with Mary. "What would you like to know?"

Mary took her time wringing all of the information she could out of Ocelot. It was largely just things that Ocelot or Samuel had already told Eli, but the closer Mary verged to _that topic,_ the more uncomfortable Eli grew. 

"Er, well," Mary said, awkwardly looking from Eli to Ocelot and back. "It might be rude of me to ask, but..."

Ocelot knew exactly what Mary was getting at. He skipped straight past her delicacy. "I have no intention of continuing a sexual relationship with Eli. It was a mistake."

Eli practically choked on his own tongue. "Oh god, don't — both of you don't —"

"Um, th-that's good," Mary said. "And, I think... I think it's good that you've recognized your mistakes and are making amends. But you should probably consider confessing your sins so you can get right with God too!" 

Jesus Christ, was she really still doing this? Suddenly all the trouble Eli had gone through to save this girl seemed ridiculous. Eli had half a mind to open the passenger door and roll out onto the street, but Ocelot just laughed amicably. "And who is going to absolve me of my sins? Will you?" he asked, tone light. "I suppose you are the Pope's daughter." 

"Well, I'm not ordained so I can't — but if you want to talk, I'll listen!" Mary offered. "It can help to have someone to share your burdens, even if all they can do is offer an ear."

"I'm afraid it would take a car ride longer than this one to get through my list of sins," Ocelot said, merging onto the motorway. "Maybe another time. Thanks for offering, though."

"You're welcome!" Mary said, chipper. 

How Mary managed this uplifted mood in the circumstances was beyond Eli's ability to comprehend. He let his forehead fall against the window and stared listlessly as the urban scenery rushed by.

Eli had little to contribute, but Mary and Ocelot maintained an agreeable and benign chatter. Eli could tell that Mary was starting to come around on Ocelot — he had no idea what Ocelot was playing at, but he was certainly trying to turn on the charm. Was Ocelot just being nice to her to piss Eli off? It was so bizarre and passive-aggressive that he wondered if Ocelot might be _jealous._

He tried not to think about it too hard, lest he get uncomfortably close to addressing his own configurations of jealousy here.

Eli snorted and mumbled to himself under his breath. He did his best to just block out their conversation — they weren't saying anything worth listening to to begin with. He instead occupied himself with watching the vehicles around them.

They'd hit a particularly long stretch of motorway a bit ago, and Eli had got a good chance to look every car over. Ocelot was driving kind of slowly, maybe a kilometer or two under the posted speed limit, but that did a pretty effective job of weeding out suspects for a tail — anyone who _wasn't_ tracking them inevitably sped past them. There was just one thing that made Eli think...

"Somebody might be following us," he piped up, cutting off a particularly insipid line of conversation.

Mary immediately went white with terror and whirled around to look out her window herself. Ocelot was less obviously rattled, though he was clearly taking it seriously. "What makes you say that?" Ocelot asked.

Eli looked carefully at a car a few places back, in the lane to their right. He'd noticed it behind them a few times now — it'd been lingering around when they were still driving on the surface roads, and it'd been consistently on their trail since they pulled onto the motorway. Eli had memorized the plates. "The black Bentley back there," he said. "I've seen it a few times now. It's lurking behind us, even though we're going slow."

"You're sure it's not just a coincidence?" Mary asked.

"Well, no," Eli said. "But if it's not, then..."

Mary looked very unsettled. "What do we do if we _are_ being followed?"

"Relax," Ocelot implored. He signaled and changed lanes gently. "It wouldn't hurt for me to stop and get gas around now anyway. I'll get off the highway and then we'll see what happens."

The atmosphere was tense as Ocelot took the next exit. Eli watched the Bentley speed past. He released a breath in relief. "I — I guess I was just being paranoid," he said.

"If he's following us, he wouldn't have gotten off at the exit with us. Too obvious," Ocelot said. "We'll know when we get back onto the highway."

Ocelot drove them up to the closest petrol station, fueled the car, and let Eli and Mary buy something cheap to eat from the shop. They took a short and anxious break in the car, and then Ocelot pulled back onto the road and made his way back to the motorway. 

Sure enough, it only took a few minutes for the Bentley to reappear. Eli spotted it three cars back, same plates. There was no way it could've ended up back there if it'd kept going straight after they got off the motorway. Eli wasn't sure whether he was more scared or furious. "I see it again," he said.

Mary covered her face in her hands. Ocelot said nothing. Eli's expression twisted into anger. "You bastard," he snarled. "That wasn't the only tracker, was it? You're handing us to Thatcher after a—"

"This isn't Thatcher," Ocelot interjected.

"Bullshit. You're lying!" Eli said. "You were lying all along! You —"

"It's not Thatcher. I'm sure of it," Ocelot insisted. "Calm down. Don't act suspiciously in the car. I'm going to try to lose it."

Mary moved back to sit straight in her seat from where she'd been pressed against her window. "You... you said it was a Bentley?"

"Yeah," Eli said, still carefully watching the cars beside them.

"Joachim drives... a Bentley. A black 1978 T2," she said.

Eli clenched his fist in the fabric of his trousers. "Of course. He wouldn't just let you go either."

Mary's voice sounded almost hopeful when she said, "I-if it's Joachim, maybe we should stop and talk to him?"

"What, are you mad?" Eli laughed.

"If it _is_ Joachim, I don't think he would be hostile. I'm sure he wants me to come back with him, but if we just _talk..._ "

"Do you want to go back with him?" Eli asked.

Mary froze. She seemed surprised to even hear the question. Apparently, she hadn't thought about that at all. "I..."

They were soon approaching the next exit. Ocelot momentarily glanced back. "If you want, I can stop. I can let you leave with him."

"What?! No!" Eli protested.

Mary stared at her hands in her lap. "I..."

"Mary, you can't go back with him now. Not after everything that's happened," Eli said. "You know he was just using you, just like your mother. Now you have a real chance to be free, and you're going to throw it away? Don't be an idiot."

"It's her decision, Eli, not yours," Ocelot said.

"Shut the fuck up, Ocelot!" Eli shouted, kicking the back of the driver's seat. 

"Make up your mind quickly, Mary. It'll be miles before the next exit."

Eli's head snapped around to stare expectantly at Mary. Her mouth hung open as she fidgeted with her hands. After a long deliberation, she finally spoke up, "... Lose the tail."

Eli breathed a sigh in relief. The thought of Mary going back with Joachim had made him so nervous — fuck, he was _scared_ of it. Eli really wanted Mary to stay with him through it all.

The revelation gave him some things to think about. He stared at the profile of Mary's face as she looked wistfully out the window. Who was Mary to him, really?

It was very confusing. He didn't know what to think or feel about everything that had happened, and now certainly wasn't a good time to make sense of it all. His mind was too jumbled up for it. But once they were in America — once they were free — there would be time for Eli to sort out his mess of a life, and figure out where Mary fit into it. For now, he was just thankful that they were alive.

Ocelot took the exit off. Again, Eli watched the Bentley drive past. "I'll just switch to some backroads for a while," Ocelot said. "They may put a different car on us. Keep watch." 

Eli wasn't sure exactly where they were, but they were starting to get far north enough that civilization was thinning out. Ocelot only had to drive a while out of his way to take them out into the empty fields, flat and unbroken for kilometers by anything other than an odd hill, the suggestion of a farmstead or a path branching off towards some town or another — the road Ocelot took them on was narrow, wide enough for a car and a half to pass through at a time.

They were free of the Bentley for a while — and any other traffic, for that matter. Eli didn't see another car for nearly half an hour of driving through the countryside. 

Eventually, though, Eli spotted a car merge onto the road in the distance. It kept far back, but pursued them steadily as they drove. "I see someone back there," Eli said.

Ocelot didn't reply for a while. "They're tracking us by some means," he eventually concluded. "They aren't trailing us by sight. It's been too long since I last got off the highway."

"Did they tag the car?" Eli asked.

"I think it's more likely that they've planted another tracking device on Mary that I didn't know about," Ocelot said.

"Oh no," Mary whimpered, frantically looking over her arms. "I'll try to find —"

"Don't worry about it," Ocelot interrupted. "I'll start jamming transmissions again."

Ocelot retrieved the device he'd shown them earlier, and handed it over to Eli in the back. "Here. Turn that on."

Eli took it and looked at it in his hands. "Wh— how?"

"Press the switches, they're labeled."

"Oh..."

Eli turned on the jammer. The red light switched on and began to slowly blink. "What now?"

"I'll start heading back towards a town. See what they do then. They have a visual on us now, but they know they're about to lose it," Ocelot said.

Eli was starting to get a bad feeling about all of this. Maybe it would've been a better idea to turn it on when they were already in a town, so they'd be able to lose them first — wasn't this just provoking them to action? But it wasn't like Eli knew much about losing a tail. He sat back into his seat, drumming his fingers anxiously against the jammer.

Ocelot took the next road off he found. It was leading them towards a wooded area. Eli watched the car behind them carefully — it was far back enough that they disappeared behind the tree cover before he could see whether it had even taken the exit, but if they had really just been cut off from any tracking beyond the visual, he expected that their pursuers would be making a move soon enough.

He wasn't wrong. He heard the sounds of an engine straining behind them — the car had clearly gunned it to keep up, and even though it was still out of sight, Eli could tell it was following them. "Yeah, they're still after us," he said.

"All right," Ocelot said. "Make sure you're buckled in, kids."

Ocelot put the pedal to the floor and sped through the forest. The road was full of winding bends and turns so the acceleration was perilous to say the least — Eli felt his heart in his throat each time Ocelot nearly swerved into a tree. 

"You're going to get us killed," Eli hissed. Mary reached out and took hold of his hand.

"It's fine. I know how to drive," Ocelot said.

He immediately lost one of the side view mirrors to a tree trunk.

"Yeah!? You think so!?"

"I didn't need that," Ocelot scoffed.

Mary started praying.

In spite of his protests, Ocelot seemed to concede the point and slowed down. Just a bit. Not so much that it wasn't still entirely likely they were going to get killed, but a bit.

Eli had long lost sight of the car on their tail, and he couldn't hear it anymore, either. But the next notable sound that _did_ reach his ears was far more concerning.

Mary was staring out the back window. "Is that — is that a helicopter? I think I hear a helicopter."

Eli chanced rolling down his window and sticking his head out to look up through the tree cover. Sure enough, they'd brought out a fucking helicopter. Jesus Christ. It was hovering over the woods, hunting for them — no matter how fast Ocelot drove, it wasn't going to outrun that thing.

But none of them were really expecting it to open fire.

Mary screamed as bullets began to ricochet off the frame of the car. One cracked the windshield. Ocelot cursed and swerved out of the way of a spray of gunfire, clipping the front of the car in the process. 

"Is that really Joachim!? Would he fucking fire on you?!" Eli said. He and Mary both had their heads down, on the verge of panic — the helicopter had pulled back for a moment, but it could start up again at any moment.

Mary was crying. "I didn't think so! I-is he really trying to kill me?"

"I doubt it," Ocelot said. "They're trying to run me off the road, or hoping I'll surrender first."

"M-maybe you should! If they keep firing like this, we might get hurt!"

"From the signs we're not far from a village. If I can just —"

Ocelot was interrupted by a second hail of bullets raining down through the tree cover. The gunfire cut across the boot of the car and shattered the back window. 

Eli shielded his head and Mary shrieked as they were showered with glass. When Eli frantically looked back up, he saw Mary covered in fresh cuts. "Stop!! Stop!! You have to stop!!" she cried. "They're going to kill us!"

"We're almost out of the woods," Ocelot gritted out. "Just a bit further and —"

And then Eli heard the tell-tale sound of a tire bursting. 

It was all downhill from there. Ocelot nearly lost control of of the car, and barely avoided crashing head-first into a tree — probably the only thing that saved them was hitting the clearing.

Ocelot swerved off of the road onto the grass, flat tire raking up soil. Eli got the first good look of where they were then: they'd spilled out right in front of an old church.

"We're going to have to act quickly," Ocelot said as his vehicle hurtled unsteadily towards the building. He spun the steering wheel hard into a turn, sending them around the back of it for cover.

"What are we doing?!" Eli demanded. 

Ocelot brought the car to a skidding stop behind the church. "Get out," he commanded. Eli had half a mind to protest, but with an attack helicopter quickly zeroing in on their location, he thought better of it.

Mary and Eli scrambled out of the car as Ocelot ran around to the boot and yanked it open. Eli came up behind him, and immediately had an assault rifle shoved into his arms. "What the fuck?"

Upon closer inspection, it seemed that Ocelot came incredibly loaded. The boot of the car had been converted to a practical armory — there were at least half a dozen guns in there, and boxes upon boxes of ammo for all of them. "Were you expecting this to happen?" Eli demanded.

Ocelot didn't answer. Instead, he forced Mary to take a gun too. "Stay sharp," he said. "You know how to use one of those things?"

"N-no!" Mary exclaimed, her face turned completely red. She didn't even know how to hold the gun — it looked like it was too heavy for her. "This is the first time I've even touched a gun!!!"

"Well, you're about to learn. Here's the safety, here's the trigger. Keep your finger off it until you're ready to shoot. Hold it in both hands like this, look down the sights, aim, and fire. Got it?"

"I — I —"

"Really!? We're going to try to get into a firefight with a fucking helicopter?" Eli said.

"No," Ocelot answered. He retrieved some bullets and a third revolver from the car for good measure. "But if we go down, it won't be without a fight."

Mary already had tears streaming down her face. She clutched the rifle to her chest, terrified. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die..."

"Let's see what they want," Ocelot said, and confidently lead the march around to the front of the church.

Eli reluctantly took Mary by the hand and pulled her along with him, keeping at a safe distance. The helicopter had stopped firing, but he could still hear it overhead — and the car that had been following them had just pulled up into the clearing. More would follow before long, he had no doubt. 

Ocelot stood out in the open, hands on his guns but otherwise exposed and vulnerable. The enemy held their fire. He simply waited as the car came to a stop and parked. There was a long, tense moment where no one did anything — all Eli could hear was the whirring of blades cutting through the air.

Eventually, the reinforcements arrived. Two more cars pulled up, including the black Bentley. Those parked too, and men started to get out — four from the first car, then three from the other. They were all armed and armored, faces covered in masks. They set up in a defensive position behind their vehicles, weapons all trained on Ocelot, and only when the phalanx was secured did the man of the hour show himself. 

Joachim von Verschuer climbed out of the back seat of his Bentley with a look of ice about him. Even seeing him now still sent an instinctual shot of fear through Eli — he had no idea what Joachim was really capable of, or what lengths he'd go to to get Mary back.

Out of the Bentley's driver's seat came an especially surprising sight: Dr. Thomas, Eli's doddering old teacher with the cane and the bad attitude. But Dr. Thomas wore his affectation of frailty no longer — he stood straight and tall, unencumbered by any appearance of disability or weakness. Instead of his shoddy cheap false leg, he wore an advanced mechanical prosthetic with a range of motion as flexible as any natural leg. And gone was the tweed; he had on a full combat suit, form fitting and heavily armored. He looked fit and agile, even at his advanced age, and he stood at the ready with an unsettlingly large weapon. Was that... a fucking rocket launcher?

Joachim stepped forward to address Ocelot with purpose. "So we meet again, Adam," he said. "I must commend you. When I received word that you were one of Thatcher's agents, I was honestly surprised. Your cover was very thorough."

Ocelot offered a mockery of a smile. "I'm good at my job." 

"Quite," Joachim replied, clipped. "Naturally I'm curious to hear why you seem to have assisted in Mary's escape, but we haven't time for such pleasantries. You know why I am here. I would like to speak with Mary."

Eli stood with Mary, huddled together around the corner of the church. They looked between each other, apprehensive. 

"It's all right, Mary. Come here," Ocelot called out.

Eli didn't like this. He gritted his teeth. There was no telling what they'd do when Mary was out in the open. He followed close behind her when she reluctantly stepped forward into the clearing.

"H-hello, Joachim," Mary stammered, timid. She came to stand slightly behind Ocelot, too scared to take the front line.

Joachim wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mary. I'm so glad to see you're well," he said. "I cannot thank your friends enough for rescuing you from the Prime Minister. I'll reward them handsomely once we've returned."

Eli could tell that this took a lot of courage. "Joachim, I... I won't be going back with you," Mary said.

Joachim tilted his head. "Pardon?"

A tense ripple went through the line of armed men — they were clearly anticipating a conflict. Dr. Thomas stepped forward, frowning deeply.

Mary repeated herself timidly. "I won't be going back with you."

"Might you be willing to tell me why you've made this decision?" Joachim asked, tone steely.

Mary looked back to Eli as if it were a reflex, but she quickly trained her gaze back on Joachim before her. "I've decided that — that I want to move on. Go elsewhere. I want to be free. I don't want to... to live in captivity any longer. Even if it's with you."

"But the baby —"

"My mother terminated the pregnancy when she had me captured," Mary said, her tone deliberately blank. Eli could see her grief plainly from its absence. 

Joachim really did look genuinely surprised to hear that. "I — I'm so sorry," he said, shifting his stance. "I didn't think she would go so far."

"There were a lot of things you didn't know about how far the other would go," Mary muttered.

Joachim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Mary. Is there anything I can do to help your heart heal?"

"No, I —"

"We can always try again, when you come back with me. There's still —"

"Really?" Mary interjected. "You're serious? That's all you can think about — getting me to do it all again?"

"I —"

"You really are just like my mother," Mary said, breathless. She brought her gun up over her chest defensively. "You never loved me. Not really. It was all just a ploy to keep me willing to go along with — with your unnatural _projects,_ wasn't it?" She sniffled and quickly wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"That isn't true, Mary. You know that I love you very much. But you are so very important to my research," Joachim said. "I understand if you no longer wish to be a part of my work. I've always given you the option to refuse. But it can only be you. Without you, all of our advancements will be for nothing."

Mary choked on her own tears. "Goodness, you — you'd go this far to manipulate me?"

"Manipulate you? I am only telling you how I honestly feel. I —"

Mary sniffled, holding back ugly sobs. "Please don't lie to me. Please don't treat me like I'm stupid, like I'm a child. I know better now. I feel like such a fool! You never loved me. You never cared about me at all!"

"If — if that's how you feel, Mary, I won't force you to come back with me," Joachim said, his gaze drifting to his shoes. When he looked back up, he was wearing an almost bereaved expression. "If this is to be the end... I just want you to know that I love you. Truly, with all of my heart. I always will, no matter where life's journey takes you."

And then came the moment of truth. A heavy silence fell over the group. Mary stared at Joachim, her lip trembling perilously, and Joachim stared back, etched by all of the carefully hewn cracks in his stony facade. Could Mary hold out in the face of all of that? Was Joachim really telling the truth, or would he turn and force Mary after all, when the last of his manipulations failed to achieve their desired effect?

They never found out. A deafening explosion sounded through the atmosphere, and before anyone realized what was happening, shrapnel and fire was raining down upon them.

The scene devolved into utter chaos. Everyone scattered to dodge out of the way of falling chunks of metal. The helicopter? Was that the helicopter? When one of the blades hurtled through the air and decapitated one of Joachim's men, that seemed to confirm what Eli thought — someone had shot it out of the sky. It _exploded_ and shattered into thousands of pieces.

Eli felt disoriented and shell-shocked by the blast. Ocelot had Eli by the arm, pulling him in a direction he couldn't discern — and everything got worse when the smoke grenades came. Eli was blind and light headed. He lost his gun. He couldn't see anything but his own arm ahead of him, and Ocelot's hand around his wrist — they stumbled up steps. The church. Ocelot was taking him into the church.

The gunfire was so loud — and it wasn't just guns, either. It sounded like mortar fire. The forest was in a blaze around them, he could tell from the heat. It was suffocating. "What's going on?" Eli choked out. 

" _This_ is Thatcher," Ocelot said. 

And then Ocelot was gone. Eli didn't know where he went. Eli scrambled on the ground until he found a wall and pulled himself up — his eyes were only beginning to adjust, and the church was yet largely empty of the smoke, but he still felt completely discombobulated. Against good sense, Eli staggered his way back to grand front doors. 

There were men pushing past him into the church. The helicopter that was landing cut a clearing through the haze of smoke. Eli watched with dumb fixation as Margaret Thatcher stepped out of the helicopter onto the charred black ground.

She had a handkerchief tied around her neck, but otherwise looked none the worse for wear after her altercation with Samuel on the roof of Westminster. She wore a tight smile, and in a booming voice, called out, "Joachim! Long time no see, my old friend! Will you show y—"

Dr. Thomas stepped up beside him through the smoke, and Eli watched uselessly as the old man readied his rocket launcher and obliterated Margaret Thatcher where she stood.

Of course, the Prime Minister wasn't the only casualty — the blast hit the helicopter behind her too, and just like the last, it exploded in a shower of hellfire. 

Eli was knocked back by the force of the explosion into the church.

When Eli next came to, he was bleeding. Men were screaming. He didn't know where he was or how long he'd been out. His head hurt and he felt dizzy and sick. When he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, he vomited the thin contents of his stomach. It was all sickly yellow bile and burned on the way up. 

"Mary?" Eli weakly called out. He didn't know where she was. He had to find her. He was starting to panic. "Mary! Ocelot?"

Maybe it was stupid to yell. If anyone else found him, he was done for. He was in no state to fight. He'd lost his gun and Samuel still had his knife. He wished Samuel were there. His arms were weak and his legs felt like jelly and he was so _dizzy,_ he could barely see, half his vision clouded by blinking spots of static. His head hurt so much. All he could do was stagger through the fog. 

He was in the church. He could tell that now. He nearly tripped over a body on his way up to the altar. He stumbled past it into the apse, and it was there that he finally found her.

Eli's first thought was that she looked beautiful. She was sat up against the wall, beneath an old and cracked mural of her namesake, attended by an audience of angels. The Virgin looked down upon them with her son on her knee, smiling with all the radiance of her divinity behind her.

Mary's golden hair fanned out in a halo. She was glowing with light, her skin so pale it was unearthly. Eli felt his heart stop, and for the first time he looked to God and saw the depth of himself reflected in the world's eyes. 

Eli staggered beneath the heart of the semi-dome. Mary looked back at him, her eyes glassy. Her white dress, her white skin were stained deeply with blood so red it made his mouth water. 

His knees were so weak he couldn't lock his legs. He stumbled forward one step and then two before he collapsed.

"Mary?" came a voice. Eli dimly recognized that it wasn't his. Who was it? He crawled forward, towards her. "What are you doing? Get away from her."

He reached her body. He didn't know what to do, so he reached out to her. He brushed her hair from her face, and then he took her into his arms.

Eli's hands shook uncontrollably as Mary's blood ran out over his fingers, trickling from gravity. It set his skin on fire. He was nearly hyperventilating, sucking in huge gasping breaths that never seemed to be enough. It felt like his lungs were filled with poison.

There was a loud click and Eli looked up and down the barrel of Joachim von Verschuer's gun.

Joachim's expression was hard and his eyes were alight with flame. Eli wondered if he'd really cared for her after all.

Eli felt bad for him. It's hard to lose someone you love. 

He looked back down into Mary's face. Her eyes were still so bright. "This isn't fair," he mumbled. "I didn't want it to be like this."

When he turned his gaze back to Joachim, Eli knew he'd reached his end. And it was fine. It was really fine. He didn't care enough to fight it anymore. It came with a sense of peace that was honestly more liberating than any moment before it.

Joachim's finger curled around the trigger and Eli closed his eyes. He was ready. He was glad to die.

The gunshot rang out through the hall with a deafening finality. Blood sprayed Eli's face and he relaxed in the comforting certainty of the end — 

And then he opened his eyes and saw the world was still turning. 

Joachim lay on his side, felled by a bullet to the head. His eyes were open and soulless, but they looked little different from when he was alive. Behind him stood Dr. Thomas, bloodspattered and chest heaving. The revolver fell from the old man's hand with a resounding clatter.

"Get up, kid," the teacher commanded, stepping over the fallen body of his master. "We had better run."

Eli looked down at Mary and her pale face and the last thing he wanted to do was let go. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the blossom of blood over her heart. One bullet was all it took. His failure weighed so heavily that the prospect of even moving was too much to bear. "I can't," Eli said. "I can't leave her."

Dr. Thomas growled in frustration and stalked over to where Eli sat on the ground. "You'll have to, or we'll both be dead," he said, and he reached down to haul Eli to his feet.

Mary slipped from his arms and fell to the floor. He saw her clearly now, her dirty, blood-matted hair spreading out beneath her skewed limbs. It was undignified. Eli hated it. She deserved better than that. "No, I—"

" _Come,_ boy," Dr. Thomas shouted, and pulled hard on Eli's wrist.

Eli reluctantly followed after, caught in a daze. "Where's Ocelot?" he demanded.

"No clue," Thomas answered.

The two of them stumbled through the wreckage of the church. The sun's rays cast blinding clouds of light in the smoke and dust; the ceiling had been blasted off and the foundation was rapidly crumbling. There were still bullets ricocheting off the walls, shouts and explosions and all the sounds of death — Eli's head was swimming and his ears were ringing and he felt completely lost. He wasn't sure how Dr. Thomas managed to lead him out of that den of Hell to safety.

With both their commanders dead, the battlefield was in complete disarray. Visibility was bad and it seemed like every soldier was simply spraying bullets into any target that moved. Eli eventually noticed that the old man had taken a bullet to the thigh. He was limping painfully, but he refused to slow — he held onto Eli without relent as they dashed out to the line of vehicles encircling the church.

It was a miracle that any of them had survived the hellfire, but despite being half-crushed by debris, it looked like the Bentley was still good enough to run. Dr. Thomas managed to force Eli into it, and got into the driver's seat himself.

Eli was in complete shock. None of anything that just happened felt real. "What just... I..."

Dr. Thomas grumbled darkly, and keyed the ignition of the car. He sped off onto the road the moment he had it running. The motion dislodged a large chunk of helicopter from its roof.

"Why am I here? Why did you save me? You killed your — your boss," Eli stammered. He was half mumbling, incoherent.

"I wasn't here for his sake," Dr. Thomas said. "The moment Mary... it was over. And I wasn't about to watch another child die senselessly."

"Mary," Eli mumbled. "She's..."

"Don't say it," Thomas growled. His hands were so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles showed white even through the blood.

"Where's Ocelot?" Eli asked again. His chest and throat felt so tight. 

"I've not seen him."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

Eli pulled his knees up against his chest, curling into the seat. "I want to go home," he whimpered.

"Where's home, kid?"

"St. Francis," Eli said. "Take me back to St. Francis."


	31. CALL (Material Girl)

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

The phone was picked up. 

"I trust you've been well," said the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

Ocelot laughed softly. "As I expected, you're no worse for wear."

"Ah, but I'd become terribly fond of that chassis. My heart is left wanting, if nothing else."

"I'm sure it will be no trouble for her to fashion a replacement, in time." A chair creaked.

"Indeed," Margaret Thatcher said. "I'm left more troubled by the loss of something much more difficult to replace than my avatar."

"A tragedy," Ocelot quickly replied.

"So it was. I am most grateful for the opportunity to pluck that dreadful man's thorn from my side once and for all, but it's a shame you weren't able to retrieve her alive. Willful as she was, I think she would have proven a valuable asset in time, once she'd moved beyond her troubled adolescence."

Silence lingered over the line.

"I assure you I did what I could to secure her safely, but in the chaos..." Ocelot sighed. "It just couldn't be helped."

"I suppose not," she agreed, resigned. "Whatever attachments I may have had, she was ultimately a liability... humans have ever been a capricious sort."

" _Humans,_ huh?"

Margaret Thatcher laughed. "I am not so far gone, my friend. I think it is simply time for a shift in my priorities."

"Oh? How so?"

"It takes such a long time to build and shape and control a natural human mind, and failure becomes such a costly loss of investment. What if we could perform certain... _augmentations,_ for more immediate, failsafe result? All this fussing over _genetics_ and _lineage_ is an antiquated fixation of a bygone technological era — as your own experiments have well confirmed — but I believe we can take it _further_. The body is but a blank canvas — with the right tools, even the weakest stock can be lead to greatness. Not to _mention_ unquestioning obedience."

"An intriguing prospect."

"Quite. I am sure we will have a chance to discuss this in depth at a later time. I am working together with our good friend on a number of projects that I think will prove quite promising. In fact, we are moving forward with the first preparations as we speak."

"I look forward to it," Ocelot said.

"As ever," said Margaret Thatcher. "Now, I'm afraid I must return to my work — things tend to pile up when you can't be in two places at once."

"I can only imagine."

"I wish you well, my dear. Give my regards to Ishmael."

"Of course. Until next we meet."

Click.


	32. EPILOGUE (Spotlight)

**13 July, 1988. St. Mary's Hospital.**

Samuel came to in a hospital bed.

He was so surprised to be alive at all that he immediately wondered if he _wasn't_. But the aching of his body quickly reassured him of his mortality.

His eyes flickered open and he looked around. He wasn't in one of his mother's compounds, that was immediately apparent. The room had wooden floors and warm light, and there was a vase of flowers next to his bed. He turned his head to his left, and saw that he had a visitor.

Ocelot sat beside him, wearing a carefully guarded smile. "You're awake," he remarked.

"Yes," Samuel said. His voice came out scratchy and hoarse. "May I... have some water?"

Ocelot nodded and rose from his seat. He went into the small water closet attached to the room and got Samuel a paper cup full of water. When Samuel put it to his lips and drank it down, it was lukewarm and had a strange aftertaste, but it may as well have been ambrosia. "Thank you," he rasped.

"I'm here to check you out," Ocelot said. "The doctors said that once you're up, you're good to go."

"Okay," Samuel said, sitting up. His body hurt all over, and his wrist was in a splint, but it didn't feel like he was in any urgent danger. Painkillers were probably taking the edge off. "Do you... do you have my clothes?"

Ocelot motioned over to a table on the far end of the room, upon which a simple set of clothes were folded. Samuel laboriously pulled himself out of his bed and padded over to put them on. He shrugged out of his hospital gown and pulled the light t-shirt and slacks onto his body. He put on the socks and pair of shoes beside them, too.

A nurse came in soon after and helped them go about checking out. Ocelot filled out a few forms, and then they went down to the front desk to process the discharge. After that, Samuel was released.

Ocelot lead Samuel out of the hospital and around the block to where he'd parked his car. The old Ford Cortina was gone — Ocelot was driving a Jaguar now, it seemed. Samuel climbed into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. 

Ocelot pulled out of his spot and pulled onto the street. He carried along in time with the easy flow of traffic. When Samuel turned his head to look out the passenger window, he could see the rays of the sun reaching out from beneath the horizon, reaching between the tall buildings of the city.

Samuel looked back ahead of him and said, "I'm alive."

"Yes. You are."

Samuel took a moment to contemplate that fact.

He had very little recollection of what happened on the top of the Palace of Westminster. He'd got into a fight with Margaret Thatcher, he knew that much — but the details were hazy. He'd got a concussion, most likely, and at some point, fallen unconscious. And now he was in the hands of the ones he'd betrayed — but not _dead._

"I don't understand what I've done to deserve mercy," Samuel said.

Ocelot laughed, turning his head to give Samuel a strange look. "This isn't _mercy,_ kid," he said. He looked back to focus on the road. "I'm taking you home."

Samuel was quiet for the remainder of the drive.

They arrived at the Thames, and Ocelot pulled his car right up to the Palace of Westminster. Samuel followed behind Ocelot as they approached the entrance. Ocelot did not coerce him, or threaten him, or restrain him in any way — he simply knew that Samuel would obey without question.

And he did.

The guards allowed them to pass after a brief security check, and they walked together through the halls of the palace, side by side. It was a fairly quiet morning, as far as Westminster went. People walked to and fro all around them, oblivious and apathetic to whatever manner of machinations in which their true leaders were embroiled. Not all of them seemed happy, but Samuel envied them all the same. They had themselves, if nothing else.

Ocelot lead them to the small closet that concealed the elevator to the compound beneath the palace, and passed the security checks to open the door to the lift. Samuel followed him inside, and stood quietly as Ocelot keyed in their destination.

The lift lurched into its descent. It always seemed to travel much further than it actually did. Maybe it was his nerves — but he found himself oddly calm, given the possibilities.

Eventually, the elevator opened up to the white underground. Ocelot stepped out, and Samuel followed close behind.

There was no one else in the halls. Their footsteps reverberated loudly. This bothered Samuel more than anything. 

"I failed my mission," Samuel said.

"You did as best you could," Ocelot said, moving forward without sparing Samuel a glance. "You performed admirably, in the beginning. I couldn't have done my job without your reconnaissance and reports. But he turned you, didn't he?"

Samuel said nothing.

"I'm not surprised. Eli is not his father, but — Big Boss could sway an entire world. He turned _me._ It's only to be expected that his _clone_ would command your devotion."

"Am I to be punished?" Samuel asked.

"That's not up to me."

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the doors to the laboratory. Ocelot stepped forward to subject himself to the retinal scan, and then the doors opened up to let them pass. Ocelot gestured for Samuel to go ahead. "It's all you from here, kid."

Samuel stepped over the threshold, and the doors slid shut behind him — they were locked, he knew. He stood still and listened for footfalls as Ocelot turned and walked away.

There was no turning back. Samuel lifted his head and stepped forward. The short length of the antechamber before him seemed to stretch so far. The only color in the room was the spot of red light on the security keypad reaching out to him through the white.

He took his time, but eventually Samuel reached the other end. He took a deep breath, and he knocked. Those doors, too, slid open before him.

There was an office on the other side, as sterile as the rest of the floor. It had little furnishing, but for a desk and a few chairs and a floor lamp that emanated a fluorescent glow. The room felt as if it were overwhelmed by the light.

Behind the desk was Samuel's mother.

"Welcome back, sweetie," she said. Her face was covered by a surgical mask — Samuel hadn't seen her mouth in years.

Samuel slowly approached the desk and took a seat in the chair in front of it. He had nothing to say for himself. He simply waited.

Dr. Clark quietly looked her son in the eye. "Have you been well?" she asked.

"Yes," Samuel answered.

The doctor folded her hands on her desk. "I've been briefed on the the unfortunate incidents that occurred over the last few days. I was told that you were responsible for the security breaches at this facility. Is that true?"

Samuel didn't see the point in trying to deny it. "Yes."

His mother adopted a look of concern. Samuel didn't doubt that it was genuine. "Were you threatened or coerced?" she asked.

"No."

"I see," she said. She looked disappointed. "Then... why?"

Samuel thought about his answer.

"I did it for me," he concluded.

His mother actually looked... surprised. Of all the answers that she expected to hear, that was about the last among them. "For _you?_ " she repeated.

"Yes," Samuel said. "I did it for me. I did it because I wanted to make my own decision, as my own person, and live the life I wanted to live. I wanted to protect the people who matter to me, no matter what the consequences might be."

Dr. Clark gave a tired smile. "You know what that means, Samuel."

"Yes. I do."

"I'm sad that it's come to this," she said. "I thought... I hoped that it'd taken this time."

Samuel said nothing.

Clark laughed softly. "It's really remarkable how you've persisted, in the face of everything we've done to you. The hypnopedia, hypnosis, Ludovico..." She went quiet for a moment, as if she'd suddenly become distracted by something beyond her. Samuel grew tense and anxious, fearing where she was about to go. But she eventually snapped back into focus. "No matter what, your spirit always fights back through it all in the end, doesn't it? You've always been so strong willed."

Samuel released his held breath.

"Well, I think it's clear that we need to take a new approach," Dr. Clark said, rising from behind her desk. "I suppose this is just as well. You can be the first to help me with our latest project."

"Project?"

"Come with me, honey."

Samuel followed his mother out of her office.

He was silent as she engaged her radio to call for the OR to be prepped. Most of what she said over the radio was communicated in a convoluted jargon that Samuel understood very little of.

Samuel's mother only grew more and more paranoid with age. She looped in and out of reality, unable to distinguish fiction from fact. She experienced films as vividly as anything in the real world, and found herself lost in them. But no lesser was her genius — it made her an ambitious doctor, unrestrained by the accepted conventions of medical and technological limitations.

Samuel barely recognized her anymore. Maybe there was no point in seeing her as his mother at all, but something in him wouldn't let him let her go. He wasn't sure whether it was him, or everything that she'd forced inside of his mind.

But it didn't make a difference in the end. He followed behind her dutifully as she lead him down to the operating room, which was in the process of being prepared by a team of very harried technicians, several of whom had clearly just been woken up.

Dr. Clark prepared for surgery in the antechamber before the operating room, and demanded that Samuel strip down to change for a hospital gown. Samuel, as ever, did as he was told.

He followed her into the room when he was prepared. The team of technicians stood at the ready.

"We're starting a little early, but this is just as we've practiced," said Dr. Clark. "Samuel, take a seat."

Samuel walked over and lay down on the operating table. One of the technicians picked up a pair of clippers, and began shearing the hair from Samuel's head.

Dr. Clark walked about, inspecting the machinery and assortment of tools and equipment laid out by the technician team. "With any luck, we'll finally be able to put this problem behind us," she said. "Now, secure his head."

As one of the technicians was rubbing Samuel's bald head with disinfectant, another reached beneath the operating table and unlatched some sort of arm that extended out and swiveled around over the top of the table. Attached to the arm was an unwieldy, crown-like contraption — once Samuel's head was sufficiently cleaned and prepared, the team worked to lock his skull into the device. It held him so securely that he couldn't move at all.

"What will I be like, after this?" Samuel asked. He'd wondered the same, long ago, when his mother had first altered his mind. He was surprised he'd regained the ability to.

A technician lifted the anaesthetic mask to his mouth.

Dr. Clark picked up a little green chip, and inspected it under the light. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"

 

***

 

**14 July, 1988. Reykjavík.**

EVA looked up to the clock on the wall of the cafe at which she was sat. It was more than 15 minutes past when her son was supposed to meet her, and she was growing worried. Her small cup of coffee sat between her hands, untouched and quickly growing cold.

She looked up when the chime above the door sounded, full of hope. Her stomach sank when she saw Adam, alone.

Adam approached with a solemn expression that did nothing to ease her nerves. She kept quiet when he sank into the chair across from her. "EVA," he said.

EVA stared at the man across from her with apprehension. "Why are you here? Where is my son?"

Adam didn't immediately answer. "He..."

Her fingers curled tight around her cup. "Don't do this, Adam. Don't drag it out. Just tell me."

"It didn't work," Adam said. "The plan."

EVA was surprised by how little she felt. The anxious tension dissipated from her stomach at once, and she was left with nothing but a dull emptiness. "He's dead?" she asked.

Adam set his hands on the table and looked down at them, brushing his own thumbs together. 

"When you told me that Eli had been taken..." EVA began, staring at her reflection in the coffee cup. "You told me that there was no risk of Eli coming to harm. You said that Thatcher knew what he was, and she wouldn't dare risk her alliance with the Patriots. That even _Clark_ wouldn't — you _promised_ me that you would be able to get him back once they'd captured the girl."

EVA didn't look up. She didn't want to see his face. "I was wrong," Adam said.

EVA released a heavy sigh. She knew it was going to hurt, and maybe the worst part was not knowing when it would start. It was suffocating. "I... I can't believe I left him alone. I was so focused on chasing you down that I didn't even _think_ about what he might do. I —" The first thing she felt was anger. Her hands started to tremble, and her jaw wanted to clench tight. "If you hadn't —"

Adam was quick to cut her off before she could accuse him. "I made a mistake, one I'll regret my entire life," he said, his tone pointed. EVA hazarded a glance up and saw his eyes were hard. "But Eli didn't die because of what we felt for each other, no matter how inappropriate it was."

The next thing she felt was the crushing, overwhelming guilt. She brought her elbows up onto the table and let her face fall into her hands. "Oh my god... I just... this was all my fault, wasn't it?"

"He was tricked, EVA. We all were."

"I was so stupid. From the very beginning! How could I be such a fool to think it'd be simple as that? I should have known that Clark was up to something. We should have sent him to a different school. What did I think, that she was a normal mother? That our kids would just be friends? That she _wouldn't_ be using her own child as a tool to some twisted end, just like she'd always seen mine?"

"EVA," Adam said, gentle. "There's no way we could've known. I never suspected Samuel capable of anything like that, either. He was so young, and he'd been going to St. Francis for years — I thought she wanted to keep him out of this life, too. The scale and length of the deception..."

EVA's breathing was growing shaky. "I just... I can't believe that she would... have him _killed._ He was hers too, you know? If nothing else, I thought..."

"I'm not sure she really understands the gravity of death any longer," Adam said. He looked out of the window next to their table, gazing out over the pier. "I think... she thought it would be a good story."

EVA laughed bitterly. "A good story, huh?" she spat. "Well, I hope she's _entertained._ "

Adam sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked disheveled and tired, like he hadn't slept. In a way, it made her feel better to see him so affected — to know, at the very least, that Adam honestly cared. Possibly even more than she did, however sick the thought of what he'd done made her.

Naturally, she considered the possibility that Adam might be lying to her about the extent of his involvement with Clark's plot — she was sure of it, really. It was just his nature to lie, conceal the facts, and do whatever he could to twist the world around him in his favor. In all likelihood, he'd been working with Clark from the beginning, and had full knowledge of her plan.

But she truly did not believe that he wanted Eli to die. 

Even if she looked at it through the most selfish lens, there was nothing Adam stood to gain from Eli's death. The most uncharitable assumption of him she could make was that he wanted to keep Eli for sex. He wouldn't kill her son, not intentionally. Whatever mistakes he made in the end would weigh on him just as heavily as hers.

So she decided to let it go. She'd let him think that he'd tricked her. It was simpler that way. 

When the grief came, it might be easier with someone to share it. 

"I think... I'm going to take a walk," she announced. Adam didn't move from his chair when she rose, just nodded. "But, later... when it hits me... let's go back to John together. Just for a while. Like it was in the old days."

Adam almost seemed surprised to hear her say it. EVA couldn't help but sadly smile. "I need to be alone right now. But I won't do me any good to push you away forever," she said, resigned. "Whatever you've done... it doesn't matter. I forgive you. I need you. Will you be there for me?"

"Always," Adam said.

 

***

 

**6 October, 1988. St. Francis.**

Dr. Sidney Thomas regretted just about everything about his life, but as he began to scale the steps of the tower to the headmaster's office, he figured taking this job really ranked towards the top of the list of shit things he never should've done. 

He grumbled to himself unpleasantly as he hauled his rapidly decomposing body up the stairs. He'd thought retirement would be a relief, but it turned out that ceasing all rigorous physical activity really didn't have the best results when you were a hundred and seventy or however the fuck old he was now. Today it was really his back that was trying to secede from the union, and he'd rip his spine out of the leathery sack he called a body if he had that much range of motion any longer.

Maybe he'd just talk to somebody about moving his office and quarters onto the ground floor. The top of a goddamn tower — really, that was just fucking unreasonable. He wouldn't have wanted to make that journey every day if he were still 20 and doing backflips to impress Churchill.

So when he wrenched open the door to his office, he did _not_ want to see Adam Doe on the other side.

And yet there he was, sat in one of his office chairs with crossed legs and patiently folded hands. Sidney stood in the doorway of his office, staring unpleasantly down at the trespasser. "You're here," he gruffly observed.

"Yes," Adam agreed.

Sidney groaned and made his way across the room. He threw his briefcase down onto his desk and sank into the chair behind it. He watched Adam with a bored expression as he opened his case and leisurely pulled a gun out of it.

Old habits die hard, even when you're retired.

Adam didn't really react. He just looked on quietly as Sidney settled back into his chair, propped his feet up on his desk, and trained his gun on his target. "Precaution," he said.

"I understand," Adam replied.

"Good," Sidney said. "Now tell me why you're in my goddamn office."

Adam laughed. "You know why," he said. "I wanted to check in. See how he was doing."

Sidney snorted and shook his head. He didn't like Adam one bit, but he understood what it was like to be a parent, even if the children had never been his. He wasn't going to deny Adam this. "He's just fine. Strong kid. Angry. Hates you, a lot."

"I... expected as much," Adam said. He tilted his head. "He's back here at St. Francis as a pupil?"

"Yeah," Sidney answered. "Finishing up his GCSEs. Still a lazy student, but I got him back into rugby — lets some of that rage out. He's the captain now, actually. Got the position after the last kid broke his leg."

Adam laughed softly. "I wonder how that happened."

"Swears up and down it wasn't him." Sidney couldn't help but smile, just a little bit. "He's got me training him, too — rough around the edges, but he's a born soldier. Wants to enlist when he's done. Been in touch with my contacts in SAS," he added. He sighed and set his gun down on the desk — Adam wasn't here to attack him, obviously. "Did you see him?"

"I saw him," Adam confirmed. 

"Talk to him?"

Adam shook his head. "I doubt he wants to see me."

Sidney laughed. "You guessed right. It's really rich that you think I'd want to see your face again either, after how you double crossed me."

"Double crossed you?" Adam repeated, as if he were _confused._ "Joachim von Verschuer is dead, and Margaret Thatcher no longer has any concern for your existence. What more could you want?"

Sidney glowered darkly back at Adam. "No concern? I blew her up with a rocket launcher, and she didn't die."

"She has no hard feelings, I promise. You don't have to take my word for it — you know that if she'd wanted to interfere with your life, she already would have," Adam said. "You got exactly what you asked for: you're free of the Illuminati."

"What I'd _asked_ for was Churchill's daughter, safe and sound, and her harassers dead in the ground," Sidney growled. "Instead what you gave me was her corpse, and your ungrateful little brat in her stead. Feels like I've been visited by a cuckoo bird."

Adam took a moment to inspect his hands his hands quietly before he spoke up again. "In a way, you're lucky Mary is dead."

Sidney's expression curdled. That certainly was not how he would characterize how he felt about Mary's death. " _In a way?_ "

"Honestly, I had no way of knowing Thatcher had a... copy. But had everything else gone to plan, she'd never have left you alone," Adam said. "For better or worse, we all walked away from this at peace. "

"At peace, huh?" Sidney scoffed.

Life often felt meaningless without Mary. Eli could never replace her — he was rude, annoying, and never knew how to shut his fucking mouth. Sidney could barely stand to be around him half the time.

But the kid had loved Mary. They had that in common, if nothing else. Sidney'd had half a mind to just turn him out after Adam left him holding the short straw, but — it really did help to have someone who understood, even in a small way. The grief did a little to wear away the edges of their differences. When they clashed, the bite wasn't so sharp.

He saw her every time he looked at the boy.

"I don't think I'll ever be free of them. Of it. Not really," Sidney said, looking out towards the window of his office. "Eli..."

"Eli is completely insignificant to Thatcher," Adam quickly said. "He can have a normal life. No one will seek him. I've made sure of it."

Sidney turned his gaze back to Adam. "And what of you? Will I be haunted by _your_ ghost?"

The office fell silent, but for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. Sidney knew it was hours slow, but he would never be bothered to fix it.

"No," Adam eventually answered. "Concerning myself with that child only distracts me from my purpose."

Sidney didn't think he would ever really understand this man. He hoped he would never have to.

And it seemed that was that. Adam rose from his seat. "It's time for me to go. We won't meet again."

"Good."

Adam gave Sidney a cordial nod, and let himself out of the office. The door closed behind him with a soft click.


	33. POST SCRIPT (True Blue)

**27 February, 1991. Iraq.**

When the interrogator unstrapped Eli from the board, he tumbled onto the dirty stone floor with a heaving, sputtering cough. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth along with the water.

The only liquid he had to drink was whatever they poured onto his face during these sessions, so he found himself shamelessly scrambling on the ground to suck up whatever he'd sprayed out. His mouth became smeared with mud and it dug into the cuts on his face, but his body hurt so badly that he didn't even register such a trivial pain. 

"I think Englishman is had enough," the soldier on guard in what passed for the 'interrogation room' remarked. He almost sounded nervous — Eli didn't know whether that was more a sign that they valued his life, or that they might get careless enough to kill him all the same.

The interrogator fixed Eli with a wild grin. "Oh, you think so? You are a bit tired? Have a nap, would you like?" 

The interrogators knew Eli spoke Arabic — he'd been a fucking sleeper agent, they _knew_ him — but they addressed him with this broken English all the same. Maybe it was meant to insult him. He understood little about what they did in this prison. It all seemed so fucking pointless.

"On your feet, scab," the interrogator hissed at him, kicking him harshly in the ribs.

He was weak as it was, dehydrated and malnourished and beaten within an inch of his life, so the blow did little to motivate Eli to stand. He merely managed to curl in on himself, trembling, as the soldier looked on in disgust.

"توقف! سوف يموت."

Eventually, he felt himself being hauled up. It was a futile attempt, because he lacked the strength to support his own weight in this state. The soldier clicked his tongue, and settled for dragging Eli by his leg out of the room.

The floor of the compound was filthy and covered with jagged rocks and shards of God knows what, which all dug painfully into his back and arms as he was dragged down the halls. The other soldiers they passed on the way back to the cells laughed and jeered at him, but none of that even registered with him anymore.

It was the same routine every day — or, at least, that's what he assumed. Eli had no concept of the passage of time down there in that cell. The only thing he had to mark time was his single daily meal, and his trip down to the interrogation chambers.

They didn't even give him a bucket to shit in, and they certainly didn't clean his cell. Guards came by to mock him or pelt him with rotted bits of food, and then laugh themselves stupid when he'd eat it anyway. They laughed and laughed and laughed, but Eli knew it was a hollow mirth — they were furious that he'd never give them the intelligence they really needed, and Eli knew it.

The soldier threw him back into his cell and locked the door behind him. Eli lay where he fell, and breathed slowly as he waited for the pain to subside. It never entirely went away, but, eventually, he would at least regain the strength to pull himself onto his little dirty cot and wait for sleep to take him.

He was interrupted, though, by the sound of a guard's footsteps approaching.

Eli lay motionless on the floor of his cell. Even as the guard stood behind the bars and watched him, Eli paid him no mind — it wasn't as if there were any point. He was likely there to bring him out for another round of torture — it wasn't uncommon for them to let him think they were done only to take him out for more. Eli had accepted it. Dreading the pain only prolonged the inevitable.

"Eli," the guard said. 

Eli slowly turned his head. It had been a very long time since he'd last heard that name.

"Eli," the guard repeated again. _Was_ he a guard? His voice sounded familiar, but Eli couldn't place it...

He tried to make himself sit up, but his entire body was wracked by pain. He'd lost track of how many of his bones were broken; most of his torso and legs were spattered with agonizing bruises and cuts that were likely to fester, filthy as his cell was. All the same, he managed to pull himself to his hands and knees, and he crawled slowly, painfully, painfully to the bars.

"Eli," the guard said.

Eli looked up. The guard's face was covered by a balaclava, but he could see his eyes — he'd know them anywhere. "Ocelot," he rasped out.

Ocelot squatted to lower himself to Eli's level; it was impossible for Eli to stand. "How have you been?" he whispered.

The question was so absurd that Eli couldn't help but laugh. _How have you been?_ He was sure his story was plainly written onto his body. "Are you..." Eli choked. His mouth and throat were so dry. "Are you here to save me?"

Ocelot released a quiet laugh through his mask. "No, I'm not," he said.

Eli slumped. Why had he gotten his hopes up? Why had he expected anything of this man? "Then — then why —"

"Don't think it's because I don't want to," Ocelot said. His voice sounded almost gentle and kind. "That I've come to see you at all is far more risk than I should be taking."

"What, then? Have you come to mock me?" Eli asked, his forced laugh sounding closer to a wheezing cough than anything.

"No," Ocelot answered. He seemed to take a while to consider how to word what he wanted to say. "I think I needed to see you myself to know."

"Wh... what? Know what?"

Ocelot rose to stand. He stared down at Eli quietly for a time, before he said, "You're better off, even now."

" _What?_ " Eli choked.

"You'll be fine," Ocelot said. Eli could just barely see his face move into a smile behind his mask. "I can tell from your injuries that they're reluctant to kill you or mutilate you permanently. You're valuable to them. As long as they think it's possible they can at least ransom you to the coalition, they'll keep you alive."

Eli wanted to say that he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but that was exactly the sort of thing that Ocelot would say to him. The absurdity of it made him laugh again. " _Better off,_ " he repeated. 

"I brought you something," Ocelot said. "Here." 

When Ocelot pushed the object through the bars, Eli groped for it clumsily until his hand closed around it. It was some sort of rectangular electronic — a Walkman, he realized. It had a cassette in it, and a pair of earphones. "What..."

"Something to keep you company," Ocelot said. "I've held onto it for a while, but I think you ought to have it. Be sure to hide it well." 

"Who... what is..." Eli tried to study what was written on the cassette inside, but his vision was too unfocused to manage the task. When he looked back up, Ocelot was gone.

Had Eli imagined him?

When Eli looked back down, he realized there was something else under the Walkman. It was a photograph that Eli recognized immediately: a Polaroid, labeled with _Summer '88._

It had her face in it. She was holding up the camera to face them, arm around him, smiling brightly. Eli looked like he was smelling something rotten.

His fingers were shaking so badly that the photo slipped from them onto the dusty ground. He put the earphones into his ears. He stared at the player, apprehensive — he had no way of knowing what was inside, and the uncertainty terrified him. 

When he finally pressed play, he felt his throat close up.

Eli's ears filled with the sound of music. The cassette was old and damaged, and the sound was scratchy, but he heard the song as clearly as if it were the first time.

_—end_  
_So if you should ever doubt_  
_Wonder what love is all about_

Eli shakily laid down onto his side in his cell. The pain in his body was distant, but each breath he drew felt like the culmination of an impossible effort.

_Just think back and remember dear_  
_Those words whispered in your ear, I said:_  
_True love  
_ _You're the one I'm dreaming of_

He closed his eyes, and yesterday wasn't so far away.

_Your heart fits me like a glove_  
_And I'm gonna be true blue baby I love you_   
_True love  
_You're the o—_ _

Suddenly, the tape scratched with static and the music cut out. Eli's heart stopped in his chest when he heard her voice cut into the tape.

" —s this thing working now? Oh, I think I've got it." 

There was a long pause. She drew a breath.

"I guess if you're listening to this — well, I suppose I've died, haven't I?" Sniffle. "Awfully macabre to say — hopefully I have the chance to overwrite this message..."

Eli pulled himself back up to sit. 

"Anyway... I'm recording this message because I fear for my life. They're... they're going to take my baby, and I plan to fight. But if I can't stop them — if it comes to pass, I don't know what I'll do. It's hard for me to envision a future where I survive to see the sun again."

He stared down at the little rectangle in his hands.

"Shoot." Rustling, like she was rubbing at her eyes. "I'd had this entire message all sorted out, but now that I'm doing it, I — goodness, I'm just scared."

He swiped his thumb over a smudge of dirt on the glass.

"I want you to know... I want you to know that I'm so, so very sorry. I wanted so much more than what I was able to give you, Eli. I wanted us to be free from our parents and our fates — I wanted to see you become the man I know you'll be one day. I know there's a goodness in your heart, and I know, I _know_ you can do so much — but — but I fear that without someone to guide you, remind you of the light and kindness in this world, you might grow bitter and cold."

Eli's vision was growing blurry.

"I hope I had the chance to tell you before you hear this, but just incase I didn't... I want you to know that I love you, Eli."

It was so hard to breathe.

"I love you, and — you've made me so happy. You made me angry, too! Oh, so angry." She laughed so earnestly it hurt. "Sometimes I was so mad at you I just wanted to tear my hair out and scream and, and — I've never ever been so _angry_ at another person. Oh my goodness, there was one point where I had to go to confession because I couldn't stop thinking about _punching_ you! I swear, it's true!"

Eli laughed. It felt so strange to laugh.

"But — but — when you were kind to me... when we could put aside our differences, even for a little while, and..." She seemed to lose track of herself. She sniffled — something rustled, and when she spoke again, her voice was wavering. "I've never feared death, because I've always known that there is no pain at the Lord's side — but for the first time, I'm afraid, Eli. I think that I'm ready to cast aside my body, but I'm afraid to lose you. I'm afraid for — afraid for you to lose _me._ It's going to hurt us both so much when I die, and I feel so bad, so guilty, I..."

Something wet splattered the Walkman. Eli rubbed that away too.

"Please promise me that you won't let my death break you, Eli. Please be strong. Even without me, I hope you can find a reason to live your life to the fullest," she said. "I hope you find love again — I hope you find someone who sees you for the man you really are, and loves you for it. And... I'm sure that you will, because even for all you confused and frustrated me, I came to learn that you're truly... truly one of a kind."

Mary fell silent, and Eli held his breath. His gaze drifted down to the photograph on the ground.

"I'm going to pray now. I hope that's okay."

There was shifting. Mary inhaled deeply, and began for the last time:

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want._  
_He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters._  
_He restores my soul; He leads me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake._

_Even though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death,_  
_I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me._  
_You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies: you anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over._  
_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,_  
_and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever._

_Amen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, kids!!!
> 
> This was certainly an unorthodox project. You really had to throw all caution and common fic reading sense to the wind to even click on a fic with tags like these, so thanks for sticking around with me on this wild ride. I hope the ludicrous authorial hubris required to venture into this conceptual badlands has been well founded. I've gone mad with power, and no one can stop me now! See ya!


	34. !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSYCHE! after credits scene

**15 May, 1994. Iraq.**

Mantis feels the discomfort in his unit. 

The Americans look at him like he is a monster and they are not wrong. They are young and they are weak and they know little of the minds of men. "I've changed," he tells them, but they only find his words unsettling. He learns to speak little and less. This beast is a simplicity — complexity is more a threat than their assumptions. He lets them keep them.

They are delivered under the cover of darkness. The men always fear the jump, which Mantis finds perplexing. Mantis loves the bite of the freezing air and the freedom of the plummet. It is more comforting than the unpredictability of that prison hurtling through the air on metal wings. Mantis relaxes when he falls.

They speak to each other over radio. Mantis does not need a radio, because he does not speak, and he need not listen. He breaks his. It's a burden. He doesn't want to hear their words now. He reaches out and lets it come.

He closes his eyes and his ears and his mouth and he walks on the air with no one to see him. He can feel the hearts and minds of the soldiers around him, but he passes through the stream without detection. 

The prison cells of the compound are not difficult to find. He follows the stench and rot of despair. There are rows and rows of broken men, and they clamber at the bars with bloodied fingers and seeping mouths. They want their freedom. They cry out for their salvation and their retribution. Mantis has no pity left to give.

Mantis is here for a singular purpose.

It is simple to push aside the sorrow and the dying gasps of shattered wills, but the anger reaches out to him like a beacon through the mist. Mantis cannot help but be drawn like a moth and drowns in the fury. Their minds meet and マンティスは痛みの言語に食い尽くされる。

この男は日本人だ、否、日系のアメリカ人だ。痛みは新しいんだ。家族の強制収容を許したのに、国を愛したのに、幾度となく戦って命をあげたのに、無駄だった。国家に捨てられて、今ここで腐る。誰も助けない。これは心で言うことなんだから激情を堪えない。彼の心は「殺せ」と叫ぶ。「報復」と怒鳴る。しかし、しかたがないんだ。

マンティスは「俺はおまえのためにここにいない」と言う。彼の怒りはこぼれてうなるがマンティスは苦難を無視する。

死んでいる男は呼んでいるがマンティスは進みすぎて闇の中で差し伸べる。ついに、光を見付ける。

マンティスはセルに近付いて止まる。汚いセルにいる男の子を見下げて「忘れていません」とささやく。「忘れられませんでした」

イーライは「W-what?」とどもる。マンティスは目覚めて and realizes for the first time where he is.

"You're — you're —"

"I came back for you," Mantis says. "I can hear you," Mantis says. "Don't worry, I forgive you. Breathe with me."

Mantis feels the fear in him. It disappoints him. It saddens him. He resolves himself to take it away. He reaches out and Eli pulls back, but he pushes past the barrier and penetrates the wounds, digging deep into the blood and sick and bile that gushes out.

"You've seen so much," Mantis marvels.

Mantis has simple orders. He is to infiltrate the Iraqi stronghold and to extract the prisoner. There are to be no casualties. No one is to see him. He does not misunderstand these commands. He simply no longer cares.

"Come with me," Mantis says, and looks into his eyes and through them and finds the fire inside. It simmers like dying embers, on the edge but clinging desperately on, and it's a simple matter to stoke it into a rage that consumes the both of them in a rolling tide. 

There's a sound like a drone through his mind and it's a peaceful familiar submission. He lays himself down and lets it come over him, into him, subsume him and become him and he can finally let go.

_Who am I?_

_Who are you?_

_It's not a meaningful distinction._

I walk and you walk and the current is a fire. We no longer care whether they see us, but no one can touch us. They will all burn, I tell you, and you tell me that not even Hell is enough.

Do you long for freedom?

I'm not really sure what it means to be free.

I will kill all of them who hurt you, I think, and I can feel their hearts in our ears. The blood is hot and wet and spills into my mouth like a poison. I hunger for it. We find a gun, and that will do.

I walk beside you and as you as we step with bare feet through the long and dirty halls of the compound. Men surround us and assail us but their bullets turn and their hearts seize and stop. I reach out and take their throats and squeeze until they burst. I want to submerge myself in their deaths. I want to see the fear in their eyes and the terror in their screams and feel the pain as my pain. I will reach inside of them to know when the last synapse fires and oblivion takes them.

Alarms ring through the compound and the world is red. They come at you in coordinated squads, a cacophony of boots and gunfire. They throw grenades at our feet but your fury sends them home and they scatter like rats. Everything is burning. They are burning. I am burning. You are burning. You are _shining_.

Soon enough they begin to run. They cannot stop you and so they fear me, and we chase them without mercy.

The man who tortures me hides under his desk. I know his face better than my own father's — it haunts me in dream and waking life. Heat swells inside of me as I expose him and behold how he cowers at my feet, begs as I came to beg, and prays to his God for mercy. "God is fake," I spit, and I step on his hands and stomp his fingers until they break. I punch his mouth until his teeth shatter and I gouge out his eyes. I burn him until he is stripped naked and raw and I cut into his belly until his guts spill onto the earth and I use them to drag him behind me as bait for the dogs of Hell.

His dying screams herald my procession but it does not save the rest. I hunt them down one by one and I tear the life from their undeserving hands and I cast it all aside like garbage. Inferno erupts in my wake. Everything is crashing down around us. 

We walk from the wreckage without fear. There is no one left to hurt you. Not a single breath left to take. 

The tide ebbs and one becomes two and I leave you. 

Eli vomits onto the ground. Most of it is blood, not all of it his own. He shakes and retches and falls, and Mantis looks down with nothing but the gentle steady hiss of his mask to fill his ears and mind and heart.

His unit is upon them before long. They'd retreated in the chaos and lived, but Mantis would have gladly taken their lives if that were the price. He lets them feel that. They give him fear.

"What have you _done?_ " his commander shouts, but he holds little authority now, with his shaking hands and shaking voice and his heart beating so fast in his chest. It would be so easy to rip it out.

"What I had to," Mantis says. 

Eli is naked, and his body is licked by burns. Mantis feels guilt about this. The soldiers help him to his feet and Mantis slowly walks behind them as they go. Mantis doesn't often walk, but he wants to be grounded now. He feels the sand beneath his feet.

They are extracted from the mission site in the small hours of the morning and Mantis sits with Eli on the helicopter. Mantis stares into Eli's eyes and Eli stares back, and they speak for truly the first time.

"Who _are_ you?" Eli asks.

"You're you, and I'm me," Mantis answers. He's happy to have words, this time around. "That's all we can be."

They take Eli straight into surgery as soon as they arrive at the military hospital. They say his body will heal, but his mind might not. Mantis doesn't understand what that means. 

The doctors try to keep him from entering the operating room, but there is no mortal force that can hold him. The surgeons scatter when he blows open the doors, too forceful in his urgency, and he approaches Eli where he lies on the table.

He looks so peaceful, asleep as he is. He's hooked up to wires and surrounding by beeping machinery and Mantis wills it all to stop, and it does, and they're left silent and alone and at peace. His feet touch down on the sides of the operating table and he looks down at Eli with wonder.

"What's wrong with your mind?" Mantis asks.

Eli opens his eyes and Mantis falls inside.

There is an entire lifetime inside of every man, incomprehensible in its breadth and complexity, but Mantis knows the paths of Eli's mind as if he were returning to a childhood home. Their joining is a comfortable sensation, nostalgic — however distant the memories, they are reignited with vivid clarity when Mantis touches the light.

Mantis casts himself out. He spreads like blood in the water, blooming, until his essence is dispersed in all things and he is a beginning with no end. "Who are you? What have you become?" he asks, and he knows the answer intuitively.

He experiences Eli's eternity in an instant. Eli has lived and he has suffered, known pleasures and losses, and a kind of pain for which Mantis only now knows to describe. Mantis feels that pain as his pain, and it is exquisite, but it is human, and it is not a burden that cannot be shared.

"I will take it into me, and it will be me," Mantis says. "Together we can be so much more than a man."

Eli reaches out and touches Mantis's face — his mask — his bloodied fingers curling against the rubber and plastic and leaving streaks of his humanity behind, corrosive and indelible. Mantis does not fight, does not protest as Eli's hands reach back, feel no hair — gone, now, burned by the flames. His fingers pull against the straps, free them, and then — 

Eli and Mantis look at each other each in the full verisimilitude of their ugliness. "You look like me," Eli says. He touches himself in Mantis, knows the texture of that shame and finds it is not so different from his own. "I know you."

"Yes," Mantis says. "We found each other once in a darkness so deep we were drowning, and that is a quantum entanglement that cannot be erased by distances of time or space." He reaches out his hand, covers Eli's eyes and blinds him. "Don't see. Don't think. Give everything to me."

Mantis's fingers pierce through the walls and he picks out those thorns, one by one, lets them dig into his palms and wrists and pierce his heart. He weeps openly until there is nothing left to take. For him, he'll bear it all. Two as one. "We will never be apart again," he says.

Eli has fallen unconscious, and for just a moment, Mantis can breathe, not alone but in silence. 

Mantis takes that pain and he feeds upon it, knows it, and in it he finds the significance of mortality. He sits astride Eli's chest, never before so grounded, and he stares up past the ceiling into the endless sky — he feels the calming wash of the rain on his skin, the harsh heat of the sun, and all the weight of the galaxy on his heart.

Like this, they aren't so far from the stars.


End file.
